


Red Witch

by rootbeer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Hale Fire, Alternate Universe, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Captivity, Hurt Derek, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Prisoner Derek, Red Witch, Warning: Kate Argent, prisoner Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rootbeer/pseuds/rootbeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning.</p><p>Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles--147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn't his only weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Ashes

“What’s your name, kid?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She let her arms hang limply and kept her stance relaxed, though he could see her fingers twitching. She was in front of the others, obviously the leader.

Stiles studied her for a moment, drawing himself up slightly from where he was chained with his hands and feet together. “Does it matter?” he asked. He was just barely standing, terrified as he stood there with a room full of hunters as his heart pounded in his chest. Defenseless. At their mercy.

A smile pulled at her lips, stretching wild and cold like she could read his mind. “I guess not,” she shrugged, and a jerk of her head sent blonde waves behind her shoulder. She would have been pretty, Stiles decided, if not for the hot cruelty in her eyes. “Welcome to the Argent Base, the largest _Were_ captivity this side of the country,” she spoke with a sweet tone, all lightly rolling out of her mouth. But she began to pace around him slightly, ignoring the others in the room. “Your stay here can be pleasant—we tend to like magic users…especially ones of your power. Or it can be hell. And honestly kid, I don’t mind either way.”

Stiles licked his dry lips, tasting the slight rusty tang of blood that had dried from earlier. He shifted slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The metal of the chains rang through the room. He didn’t have to ask for her name—he knew exactly who she was. Everyone knew who she was. “What do you want from me?”

Kate looked over her shoulder at a woman who stood behind her. “Jennifer, you want to put the boy through orientation?”

The woman—Jennifer, smiled back at Kate. She had darker hair and eyes but she was pretty too. Unlike Kate though, Jennifer didn’t hold a casual stance. She was all tense, like she was waiting for something. Still, she stocked forward to stand in front of Stiles. “You’re in pain,” she said. She set a light hand on his shoulder and despite everything, Stiles leaned into the touch to take a bit of weight off himself.

Stiles gritted his teeth together and had to stop himself from snarling at her. “Yeah, funny enough, some guys ambushed me in the forest.”

But she wouldn’t be baited. Unlike Kate, this woman was not built up by her cruelty and pride; her eyes danced with determination and hunger for something. “No, not bruises or cuts—everything. Like a current running just under your skin. Like something’s missing.” She narrowed her eyes, though not maliciously. “Magic pulls aren’t very pleasant, but they’re affective. The metal rod they pushed against your skin—it sucked all your magic out. Every last drop was pulled until you had nothing left. They can’t actually do anything with all that raw magic, but they can measure it.”

“My magic is gone?” Stiles asked, trying to ignore the cold spin in his stomach. A force so constant in his life, another limb of his body, gone. He’d known—of course he knew. But hearing it out loud was like being kicked in the gut.

But Jennifer just shrugged. Kate let out a loud laugh though, “Yeah kid. We took it all to figure out we were dealing with. Standard procedure. Most of you little devils are 1s or 2s. Even a 3 now and then. But you’re a level 4. That’s pretty rare. ”

“You know,” Stiles said, clenching his fists. “Some people collect stamps, others postcards or coins. But not you, oh no—” He cut off, trying to calm himself so he didn’t set off a panic attack. “My magic will come back though?”

Jennifer raised an eyebrow, eyeing him. “It’ll take some time. But it will grow back.”

“Yeah,” Kate cackled even louder. “Within the hour it should start growing back and that’s when the real fun starts.”

Jennifer took a step back from Stiles so that she and Kate stood side by side. “It’s going to hurt. A lot. But then when it grows back you’re going to have a choice. You can willing help the cause, do what you’re told and help us out. Or we can force you to. Either way, you and your magic are under our control now.”

Stiles’ eyes watered a bit, but he refused to cry. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jennifer almost looked sympathetic. “I know, and I’m sorry. But this is a war, and magic is necessary. It’s the only thing that can stop those monsters.”

Stiles squared his shoulders slightly, glaring at the two woman with as much hatred as he could muster. “From where I’m standing…they’re not the monsters.”

Kate Argent smiled like it was the best thing she’d ever heard. “Take him to the cell. No one wants to deal with his crying. He can stay there ‘till his magic back. Or until I feel like being nice. Besides, I bet my pets getting lonely.” And the look on her face was one Stiles would never forget. It was dark and gleeful and almost—dare he say it, animalistic.

“Make sure he gets cuffed,” Jennifer said, turning away from him and back to Kate.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

Stiles tensed as the cuffs were placed on his wrists. They were shiny bits of metal with engravings around them that seemed to be magic themselves. “Okay, so how do you get these off again later?” Stiles asked, looking to where the cuffs were melded on. He was trembling slightly as he felt the burn under his skin creep along his bones. Jennifer had been right, he could feel his magic building back up—slowly. And it burned.

Drew—the hunter who had caught him and brought him in gave him a weird look. “Son, you’re probably going to have these things on you for the rest of your life.” He clapped Stiles’ shoulder, inspecting the cuffs critically, searching for error. “So the idea is now you can only do magic with permission from someone encompassed in the spell. Until they’ve decided what to do with you that mostly just means Kate Argent and a few of her more…respected underlings.”

Stiles curled his fingers into his palm, squeezing just slightly. Letting himself calm a bit, he ran his right hand over the cuff on his left wrist. It didn’t hurt—it just felt cold and restricting. “I see,” he whispered, acknowledging Drew’s words.

Drew tilted his head slightly, squinting at Stiles’ face. Stiles knew how he must look. Dark circles that were forming beneath his watery eyes, and the unnatural white sheen that laced the skin of his face. Things like that usually had the effect of making people look older than they were. Not on Stiles, he probably looked younger by far. Drew smiled almost sadly. “You know, I rather like you. If you had been a level one or two I’d have probably let you go. You seem alright. But a level four—kid the money I made off of you wasn’t something I could pass us. I got a family, you know?”

Stiles sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “I believe you,” he whispered, looking back at Drew. “But don’t expect me to forgive you for turning me into these fuckers. You’re selling people to them. It’s—Jesus, it’s fucking disgusting.”

Drew pursed his lips, jerking his head towards a metal door on the other side of the room. “I’m going to have leave you in there for a while. Just until your magic is back. But they’ll take you out once a day to feed you and let you stretch your legs. Probably test what you can do as your magic begins to return.”

Stiles sucked in a slow breath before giving a curt nod. “I guess I should be glad I got the chains off at least.”

Drew snorted before opening the giant metal door which emitted a loud screech as it scraped the ground. It lead to a set of steps which brought them to a hallway of sorts. On either side of the walkway there was a cell, fairly large but cold and dark looking.

“In here,” Drew nodded towards the cell on the left.

“You’re kidding me,” Stiles sank slightly, his shoulders dropping a bit. He gave Drew his best scared look, his throat closing a bit as he felt his eyes water a bit. “C’mon man. Please just let me go.”

Drew shrugged, pushing Stiles roughly into the empty cell. “Just do what you’re told. You’ll be okay.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles spat as the cell door swung shut. He had his arms around his body as he hugged himself. “Nothing about this is okay.”

Drew locked the door without a word and made his way back up the steps to the door. He stopped once to look back at Stiles over his shoulder. “Good luck, Kid,” he said and then he was gone.

The door shut and Stiles was left alone in the dark. “Asshole,” Stiles cursed, losing the vulnerable, whimper tone he had taken up earlier and hearing his own cold frustration. He let his shoulders relax and his arms fall to his side. He straightened, shuffling around a bit to find the edges of the cell.

After a few minutes of moving about Stiles had to rest. His breathing was becoming labored and his legs didn’t want to hold him up. Pain was picking up under his skin. Like bits of ice tearing into him where he couldn’t see. It was maddening.

Finally, as Stiles had fully made his way through every inch of his cell he collapsed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, gritting his teeth and squeezing his hands to his ribs where most of the pain seemed to be concentrated. He pulled his red sweater tighter, like he could warm himself up on the inside.

There was a long stretch of silence before it was shattered by a low, mocking voice. “You going to live?”

The sudden voice made Stiles jump which made him wince as his body jostled. He snapped his head up, searching through the dark for the source of the sound. He couldn’t really see much of anything. He steeled himself, squinting about. “I suppose. Though I admit, magic pulls are a bitch.” A heavy intake of air. A slow exhale.

“What did you register as when they did it?” the voice inquired, rough and distant like it wasn’t used much.

Stiles didn’t answer right away, his head tilting as he tried to see through the dark of the cells. “Four,” Stiles said honestly after a moment.

The sound that followed from across the way seemed to be that of impressed or at least acknowledgement. “Powerful.”

“You’re in the other cell,” Stiles finally said after a moment.

Another grunt.

Stiles squinted, searching for the source. “You a magic user, too?”

There was a snort then, as if the question was amusing. “No,” said the voice but it sounded more like a snarl. And then, through the dark there was suddenly a flash of bright blue that cut through the dark.

“Shit,” Stiles gasped, backing up slightly—pointlessly. He let himself calm as he sat on the cold ground, eyes still trained on the cell opposite of his. “You got a name, oh mysterious werewolf?”

There was another awkward sweep of silence. It was as if the wolf was determining whether or not he could trust Stiles with his name.

And Jesus Christ, wasn’t that just Stiles’ luck? He got the silent, mopey, rude roommate.

“C’mon,” Stiles groaned, “If you don’t tell me your name I’m going to make one up. Hmmm? Fluffy? Remus? Grim? _Spot?_ ”

Stiles had hoped for a laugh—at least an amused snort. But all he got was more silence. And then, “Derek.”

“Oh, well, that’s boring,” Stiles informed him. “I’m Stiles. Nice to meet you—well, as nice as it can be to meet someone in a prison camp.” He kept his gaze fixed on the place he’d seen the blue eyes flashing, trying to guess Derek’s whereabouts. He raised his arms slowly, showing off shiny cuffs on his wrists. “They put these metal bands on my arm…you know how they work?”

“They’re made of iron and mountain ash,” Derek said slowly, his voice deep and scratchy. “When your magic grows back they’ll keep you from using magic whenever you like. There will be a command of sorts that allows them to turn your flow of magic on and off.”

“So neither I nor a werewolf could break it,” Stiles commented, lost in thought. He began calculating, thinking things through. He glanced back up. “How many magic users are in this base?”

More silence.

Stiles pulled himself up to lean against the cell wall, shivering slightly at the cold concrete. He huffed, like he was amused. “Too busy to answer my question? You got more pressing matters? Someplace you gotta be?” Stiles let himself rest his head against the wall of the cell as he sat there, trying to ignore the pain that crept about his body, achy and burning.

Derek sighed, as if Stiles was being particularly pushy. “There’s usually ten or so here at any given time. Most everyone is a three or a two level.”

“Except me and that woman—Jennifer who was with Kate Argent when I got here.”

“Jennifer,” Derek whispered and then shuddered. “Kate Argent’s pet magic user. Jennifer is a level 5, and she’s rather cruel.”

Stiles tensed, tapping his fingers along his knee. “She wasn’t wearing any cuffs. Not that I saw.”

“No,” Derek agreed, his voice scratching in a dangerous way. “Jennifer works with them willingly. She came to them.”

Stiles’ fingers stilled as his gaze shot up to look at Derek. “You’re kidding me. Why the hell would she do that? Doesn’t she have a shred of humanity in her?”

Derek’s snarl rang through the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls. “You have to know how it all works. Magic users aren’t like _Weres_ here. We’re treated like animals, cruelly and painfully. Magic users are at least regarded as humans, using them is a ‘necessary evil’ in their minds. So yeah, some magic users would rather help them willingly than be prisoners here. They’re trying for something better.” He looked away. “I don’t blame them.”

“Well I do,” Stiles said sternly. “I’d rather die than bec—” Stiles cut off with a choke, pain flaring. It was as if his own blood was suddenly acid as it pumped through his veins. He let out a hiss of pain, curling his knees up to his chin to hug himself. “Shit, shit. Nngggg! I fucking hate hunters!” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back the scream that threatened to rip from his throat. He slammed his back harder into the wall, his fingers gripping hard at his calves. Weak grunts sounded as Stiles tried to make himself relax. The pain was too much, swallowing his conscious.

“Lie down flat along the floor,” Derek’s voice suddenly commanded. “Quickly,” he added when the words didn’t register right away.

Stiles didn’t hesitate to comply. He pushed away from the wall to dive across the floor, back against the concrete flooring. Slowly, pain began to seep out, softening once more to a manageable thrum. “Holy shit,” Stiles wheezed, blinking back tears from his eyes. The pain wasn’t gone but it deteriorated into a soft hum. “Thanks,” Stiles called over into the dark when he was able to talk again.

“Won’t last,” Derek admitted, his voice laced with sympathy though, perhaps a bit of amusement. “It’s going to get worse in a few minutes.”

Stiles grimaced then, staring upward at the ceiling. “Oh, goody. I just love pain.” He swallowed a few times, tasting the blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his lip.

“Then you’re really going to love this place,” Derek told him.

Stiles laughed into the dark, a weak and humorless chuckle that echoed through the cells. “So, where are we exactly?”

“The Argent base…largest werewolf captivity base on the coast,” Derek said slowly, uncertain for a moment, as if he thought Stiles might really be that stupid.

“No—I mean, yeah I know that. I mean this building. Where are we?”

“Oh,” Derek said. “They bring all new magic users here. You’re stuck here while your magic is growing back. And then you have to wait until Kate Argent has decided that you’ve been here long enough. But they’ll take you out once a day to get some food and walk about. You’re still—they see you as human and they’ll treat you that way.”

Stiles knocked his head softly against the ground in frustration. “Okay, how long does it take magic to grow back?”

“Depends. Could take a few weeks.”

Stiles swore under his breath. “Alright, but what about you? Why are you here right now?”

No answer.

“Derek?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

“I’m always here.

“I don’t get it. I thought all of the werewolves were housed together in the large…shack thing in the middle of the base.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “All of them but me. I’m…Kate Argents favorite.”

“Favorite what? Werewolf? Why does…Wait—you mean they keep you here all day everyday…all alone?” Stiles asked and his stomach began to sink down. “But they’ve gotta send you over to that shack with the others for the full moon at least, right?”

There was a loud sigh. “Kid, I haven’t been outta this cell in 2 years.”

Stiles knew how it was, how tactile werewolves were, how much they relied on pack. A beta werewolf without touch, a werewolf without familiar smell, that werewolf could go crazy. Crazy werewolves were dangerous.

As the full moon approached the need got worse. The wolf’s greatest instinct was then to surround themselves with pack. Except, if Derek didn’t even have anyone around he—Jesus, how was this guy not completely nuts?

“I don’t—when—fuck, Derek when was the last time you had physical contact? That’s what werewolves need, right?”

Derek took in a slow breath. “Kate comes to visit me on full moons when she’s not busy. Just to watch me beg for—she was here…three months ago? She usually brings Jennifer with her…she let me hold their hand for a while.”

“Oh my God that fucking bitch!” Stiles shouted, shooting up into a sitting position.

Derek was silent for a moment before his low, growly voice went very soft. “Shit, kid. You’re not just a magic user. You’re a werewolf sympathizer.”

Stiles clenched his fists as that, ignoring Derek’s words. “How long until the next full moon?”

“About a week,” Derek sighed. “Look—it doesn’t matter, alright? I will probably go crazy if I think about it too much. Drop it. How’s the pain?”

Stiles shifted a bit, considering the question. “Manageable. Imma bit tired though.”

“You should sleep then. The pain will come back soon and you’ll be happy for every minute of sleep you got.”

“Is it really going to be that bad?”

“For awhile, yeah,” Derek admitted.

Stiles frowned, glaring around. “This is so stupid,” he declared but Derek remained silent. Carefully, Stiles unzipped his hoodie, crumpling it up into a make-shift pillow and lying down along the stone floor. “Uh…Good Night then, I guess. Except…it’s like barely evening isn’t it?”

No answer.

“Right, well…Okay.” Stiles just trailed off, his eyes sliding shut like they just couldn’t make themselves stay open any longer. He meant to stay awake a bit longer, to think things through and soak in the silence. But he was fast asleep before he could even think about it.

Derek listened until the heart beat across the room fell into a steady, slow beat. The boy smelt like blood, some fresh and some dry. He stank of uncertainty and pain. It was a sour smell than lingered and twisted in the air.

Stiles was not the first magic user that had been brought in to share the area with Derek. They were separated by a few feet between the cells but beyond that it was a bit like having someone close. It was nice, Derek could admit that.

But then they would be gone. Derek would grow fond of them and then suddenly they would be taken out of the cells and used. Eventually Kate would use their magic to hurt him, to hunt down other werewolves, and to increase the power of her forces. Eventually, Stiles too would be gone and used. A lot of magic users were werewolf sympathizers. It just made it harder for them.

Derek glanced over at him. He was a skinny thing, Derek could see the outline of the boy with sharp joints and long limbs. Derek hadn’t thought to ask for the boy’s age but then that was probably a good thing. At least this way Derek could pretend he was older. He seemed like a good kid, all moral and stubborn. Derek couldn’t help but wonder how long that would last.

Leaning back against the stone wall of his cell, Derek thought it through. If he was a kind man he would make Stiles hate him. If he wished to be nice then he would act the part of a grumpy asshole who honestly deserved to be there. Then, when Stiles’ magic was inevitably used to hurt Derek, the kid wouldn’t feel so bad.

But he was just feet away and he smelt friendly and his voice was kind. Derek craved kindness, needed it so bad it pulled at his stomach. Just to catch the glimpse of a smile that wasn’t vicious or cruel. No, Derek would be selfish, he’d speak with this boy. He’d befriend this boy even if only for a moment.

There was the sound of shifting across the way. A slight whimper. A soft shudder. Still, Stiles slept on.

Derek snapped his gaze back over to him, watching the movement as fingers dug into the hoodie on the ground, grasping tight into the fabric like it could save him from pain and fear. But the boy stayed asleep, too exhausted to even wake from pain.

Derek took a deep breath, catching the boys’ scent deep in his nose. He was a curious man honestly. He obviously knew a bit about wolves. The kid had been right. The itch for human contact, for touch comfort—it was so distracting. Soon it would become consuming.

Derek settled against his wall, gaze fixed on the boy and hearing on his heart until he was slowly sliding his eyelids shut to sleep.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles awoke screaming. His entire body was seizing up, burning him up from the inside and freezing his skin. He couldn’t get his eyes to open, couldn’t feel the world around him. All he was aware of were pulsations of pain. He kept shouting out, tears falling down his face rapidly.

He was shaking. He knew he was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t even form words as his throat just ripped out scream after scream.

“Breath, kid! Jesus, you have to breathe!” he heard someone shouting at him.

Stiles tried, he did. But the world was blurry and black when he pried his eyes open. The pain lessened a bit after a bit of time but the pain still hit him like a drum, pausing and restarting every other moment.

“Come on, Stiles. You need to breathe.”

Stiles sucked in a slow breath while he tried to unclench his hands. Out. In. Out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In. Out. In and out. Slow. Jesus Christ.

“That’s it. Just breathe. You’re going to be okay.”

Slowly the world went dark again as exhaustion took over and Stiles was out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles was cold when he finally woke up again, and that in of itself was shocking. It wasn’t that he’d never been cold before, just that it was certainly unusual. By now a blanket would have draped over him or his magic would have unconsciously kicked up the degrees in the room.

Disorientated, Stiles blinked lazily, shifting and then gasping. Pain shot through him, jolting through his limbs. _Right._

“Ow,” he moaned, slowly letting himself roll up into a sitting position. He gripped the hoodie on the ground quickly, throwing it around his shoulders hastily.

“The pain will probably be as bad as yesterday, but you won’t be as tired so I don’t think you’ll pass out again.”

Stiles jerked suddenly at the voice, throwing a palm over his hammering heart and rolling his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s particularly positive.” Stiles paused, looking across the room to where he could sort of see Derek, standing at the bars of his cell.

Derek made some sort of grunting noise in reply.

They sat there in silence and darkness for a while before Stiles asked, “so what do you do to keep yourself entertained around here?”

“Sometimes I draw on the wall with my claws,” Derek responded after a moment, as if it cost him something to say that.

Stiles huffed in disappointment. “I can’t even see them because of the dark. Lame!” and then, “Well I don’t have claws so we’re going to have to think of something else.”

“I don’t see why your entertainment is my problem.”

“Oh ho ho, buddy. When I get bored I get freaking annoying.”

Derek snorted, “More than usual?”

Stiles wished he had something to throw at him. Something big and heavy. “Yes, asshole. More annoying than usual.”

It was then that the large, metal door at the top of the steps screeched open. Stiles could see Derek flinch back at that, sinking farther into his cell. Tense, Stiles only crept closer to the bars of his cell, towards the light and hall.

An unfamiliar woman stood there, stepping down the steps with a walk that was casual. She had dark brown skin and short black hair that curled around her face. She stopped in the hallway, one hand on her hip and the other limp at her side. “You must be the new magic user. Level 4, right?”

“That’s me,” Stiles agreed, eyeing her as she stepped towards his cell with keys in hand. “Where are we going?”

She smirked lightly, turning the lock and looking over at him. “Well, we have to feed you, don’t we? You want to stay in here?”

Swallowing with a dry throat, Stiles nodded slowly. “Okay,” he muttered, stepping back to let her open the door and walking out of the cell and into the space between the two cells. Hesitantly he paused as she made her way towards the stairs, nodding for him to follow. “What about him?” he asked, pointing towards Derek’s cell.

The lady’s lips pulled into a cruel smile and she followed Stiles’ gaze. “We’ll feed the dog when I take you back.”

“Oh.”

She took him up the steps with an unforceful but watchful approach. “You got a name kid?”

“Stiles.”

She offered a hand towards him to shake and a friendly smile. “I’m Cameron.”

Stiles stared at the hand a long moment before she let it fall.

She rolled her eyes, smiling in a knowing way. “I’m not the bad guy, Stiles.”

“Yeah, actually, you are,” Stiles informed her, looking around as they walked.

“Just in here,” she said, gesturing to a small, round building. “You like hot dogs?”

Stiles stepped inside to find it warm within. There were tables and chairs around and a big kitchen just off to the side. It seemed almost like a cafeteria or break room for the hunters. The other hunters in the room just sort of ignored him.

Cameron kept an arm on him, guiding him to a table just inside where a plate waited for him. There were two hotdogs there, still warm. It made his mouth water just to look at them. “You gotta eat them here,” she said, watching him with amusement. “We figure you stretch your legs, you get some light, some food.”

“Go back to jail,” Stiles muttered but enthusiastically started to take bites out of the food.

“So, how’s the pain?” Cameron asked around a mouthful of food.

“Painful,” Stiles rolled his eyes at her.

She shrugged, licking a bit of ketchup from her finger. “I hear they hurt like hell. I’d offer you some Tylenol but I hear that doesn’t help any.”

“Well it’s the thought that counts,” he bit at her.

Too quickly, the hot dogs were gone. He looked around slowly, watching Cameron finishing up her own hot dogs.

“Where’s Derek’s?”

“The dog’s?” She raised an eyebrow at that and then lifted a small, empty metal bowl. “We feed them all the same stuff.”

She stood, walking the bowl over to a counter in the corner where a man had a big pot. He looked up at her and lazily threw a spoon into his pot and tossed it down into the bowl. Cameron walked it back to Stiles, holding it out for him to take and seeming to not care.

Stiles looked down at the bowl. Inside was a mess of some sort of…food? Stiles wrinkled his nose at the oatmeal like substance. It smelt a bit like spoiled milk and potato with giant chunks. It was quite possibly, the most disgusting thing Stiles had ever seen.

“They eat this?” he demanded.

She shrugged. “Dogs don’t care what they eat.” Cameron looked around and then pushed her chair back. “Sorry kid, I’m going to have to get you back now.”

 

* * *

 

                 

Derek waited with his eyes trained on the door, worried. He knew Stiles would be fine. They wouldn’t hurt him. He was human to their eyes in a way that Derek and all the werewolves would never be. But still, he worried.

So Derek waited, attentive to the door, listening for footsteps. With the collar around his neck all his senses weren’t as strong as they should be. He could smell the scent of someone close, but not as powerful as he once could. Heartbeats were hard to hear now. Colors were hard to distinguish with the very little light the cells provided. His strength was that of an average man. But Derek could not forget what he was.

He was pulled out his thoughts at the tapping of footsteps. One familiar march and the quick scuttle of Stiles probably still in a lot of pain. Derek retreated farther into his cell, away from the Hunter.

“And I’m not saying that he was wrong,” she said as she lead Stiles down the steps, “only that he could have handled it better.”

“It sounds like all of you hunters are a bit trigger happy, if you ask me,” Stiles snapped at her, raising a challenging eyebrow.

With the door to upstairs open a great deal of light was pouring down the steps. It caught Stiles’ face as he glanced towards Derek’s cell like he couldn’t help it.

He was a good looking thing. Despite the tired eyes and skinny form he was a kind looking soul with light skin and soft features. Derek wondered when they started using Stiles’ magic for their own evil ways, how long would it take before the boys’ features went sharp and his soul iced over. How long would it take to break this one?

“Derek! We brought you something they’re calling ‘food.’ I thought it was a joke but they actually expect you to eat it.”

The woman swiped at Stiles’ head with a free hand but it was playful in nature. “Shut up, kid. The dog knows what he’s getting and he’ll be grateful for it.”

Stiles frowned at that, watching Cameron set the bowl down beside Derek’s cell.

Derek remained silent, watching the interaction. Cameron was fairly nice as they came. He knew her. She hated the werewolves and she could be unkind, but she wasn’t cruel. She brought him the same terrible gruel that all the wolves were fed. But she never held food from him to watch him scramble and suffer. She wasn’t good, but she wasn’t Kate either.

“I gotta make sure you haven’t got anything on you,” she said then, offering an apologetic face before reaching for Stiles.

Derek had to bite back the growl that threatened to vibrate down his throat.

Stiles just rolled his eyes, unzipping his hoodie quickly and handing it to her and then letting her pat him down. She was fast about it, probably knowing she’d watched him well enough to know he didn’t have time to hide anything. She straightened then and handed back the hoodie. “Alright, go on,” she shooed at Stiles, urging him into his cell again. “Don’t make me get violent with you, kid.”

Stiles let out an annoyed snort, stepping with purposely slow footsteps into the cell to be locked in.

She rolled her eyes but locked in him quickly, turning to go. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

“Go to hell!” Stiles said with a pleasant tone, watching her walk away with a smile and a glare.

Cameron just snorted at that and disappeared upstairs.

Derek waited a moment. “Careful or you’ll piss one of them off so badly they’ll have to scrape you off the ground.” He hauled himself up to make his way towards the cell bars. The bowl rested there, waiting with food.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want the people holding me prisoner to think that I don’t like them,” Stiles snarked, folding his arms over his chest.

Tipping the metal bowl back, Derek swallowed the meager slosh he’d been handed. Derek studied Stiles in the dark, seeing the tight way the kid held his body. He paused his eating. “You’re in pain still.”

He watched Stiles roll his shoulders back stiffly. “Not as bad as before.” He then carefully began to put his red hoodie back on with careful hands.

Derek considered this a moment before falling silent, finishing off his food. He waited, wishing Stiles would fill the silence.

Even before the start of the war Derek hadn’t been a talkative guy. He was awkward with his words and shy even when he could think them through. But he craved conversation, the sound of kindness in someone else’s voice.

And God, he needed to be touched. To hold and be held. To feel the safety of pack and calm the wolf inside of him. His fingers itched like if he wasn’t paying attention he’d have claws.

Shit. The full moon was getting too close. Soon he’d be begging for someone just to touch him, to ground him to humanity. He’d be begging to get out, to run and howl and shift. And he would meet only humiliation and laughter.

“I’m bored,” Stiles said.

Derek’s mouth curved into a smile even as he said, “I spy with my little eye…”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Stiles said but he was laughing as he said it, staring into the dark.

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek! Derek, wake up! It’s ok. You’re fine.”

Derek awake with tears on his face and Stiles calling to him from across the room.

“Derek, it’s just a dream! Come on, Derek!”

“I’m up!” Derek said, silencing the boy as he sat up with a jerk. Derek was breathing heavy, his chest burning. His hands were shaking and his hair was slicked back with swear. “Sorry,” he breathed out, “for waking you.”

Stiles snorted, relaxing his grip on his cell bars and sitting back, keeping his gaze on Derek. “Not in your control if you have nightmares.”

“Sorry,” Derek said again anyways.

“I was up anyway,” Stiles reassured him. “It’s hard to sleep while my magic is growing back.” Stiles pulled his feet under him, scooting into a comfortable sitting position. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about something else?” Derek asked, hopefully. He liked hearing Stiles talk. He was good at it. He didn’t need prompting or cues nor did he have any sorrow words about him.

“Like what?” Stiles said, eyeing him worriedly.

Derek shut his eyes tight, wishing he could be anywhere else. “Anything. Just keep talking.” He paused. “Please. The moon is too close, I can’t—”

Stiles stared, blinking rapidly at the werewolf, before he began to ramble. He talked about the time his mother had discovered her four year old son had magic. She’d been elated that he’d taken up her talent.

He talked about his dad who had been a sheriff. He’d tried to teach Stiles to shoot. Stiles had been so scared of the thing that as he held it in his shaky hands and pointed it towards the target, his magic disassembled the thing in his hands.

He talked about how he’d tried to make fire once with his magic and ended up setting his dad’s cruiser on fire instead.

He talked about the time his best friend had snuck up on him and Stiles’ magic accidentally threw him into the air.

Derek let Stiles’ voice, full of animation as he talked away, drown the world away. He fell asleep again to the sound of Stiles tell him about his young magical mishaps.

 

               

* * *

 

 

Days passed slowly in the dark. Stiles could never tell how much time had passed until Cameron showed up each day to take him outside to get some food and sunlight. Each day Stiles felt terrible for Derek who kept getting terrible gruel and no sunlight.

Derek and Stiles passed the time talking. Well, Stiles did most of the talking but Derek didn’t seem to mind. Every time Stiles stopped talking Derek would ask a question, prompting the boy to continue on his long rants. It seemed that Derek would rather listen than talk. Which Stiles took in stride. Derek was a good listener; he chuckled at all the right parts and always asked the right questions. Aside from that, he was a fairly quiet room mate.

But as the full moon approached, Derek began to talk more and more. The days leading up he became tenser, a bit manic. Stiles could hear the man’s footsteps as he paced about in his cell, whining occasionally and urging Stiles to speak more and more.

As Cameron came by Derek no longer sank to the shadows but looked desperate in the small light, begging just to hold.

By the night of the full moon. Stiles felt like he was going to puke. Derek was half out of his mind, clawing at the bars of his cell to get out.

“Please, please” Derek was saying over and over. “I need—I need—”

“I know, Derek,” Stiles offered quietly, keeping his voice soothing. “I’m sorry. I—there isn’t anything I can do. But I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. We’re okay. Alright?”

“Can’t—too much,” Derek forced out around fangs.

“I know, buddy,” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “I know. What can I do? What can I do to make it better? What if I keep talking?”

Derek howled at that. He banged harder on the bars of the cell, violently demanding them to give way beneath him. “I need _pack_. I need—I need to know you’re really there. I need to touch you, to feel your body heat, to smell you, to—” and yeah, it all probably sounded really weird to someone who wasn’t a wolf but Derek couldn’t control the words coming out of his mouth.

“Smell me,” Stiles repeated. He consider it for a moment, listening to the harsh breathing of Derek as the moon pulled at him. “Can’t you smell me from there?”

“Not—not strong enough.” Another whimper. “It hurts. It fucking hurts.”

“But if I…” Stiles looked down for a moment to stare at the zipper of his hoodie. He’d worn the thing nearly every day since he was a kid. There was probably nothing in the world that smelt more like him. Scott always said it was easy to calm down when he could smell his pack. So maybe.

“Derek? I’m going to throw my hoodie to you, okay?”

Derek’s breathing caught for a moment before there was a loud whine. “Please,” he managed to choke out, his hands reaching through the bars to make ‘give-me’ motions at Stiles. “Please, please please.” It became a chant, loose words from tight lips that pulled harshly around fangs.

Stiles unzipped the hoodie quickly, crumpling it up into a ball to throw. He stared at Derek’s outstretched hands a moment before tossing it across to him. “Be careful with it, okay? It was my mom’s.” And Stiles felt kind of stupid for admitting that to a crazed werewolf but Derek caught it in the air and quickly pulled it in.

Derek ran his hands slowly over the soft, worn fabric. His hands were shaking but he was gentle as he could be. The hoodie was still warm and held Stiles’ smell. For the first time, Derek was able to get a strong inhale of Stiles. He hesitated a moment, not wanted to cross some sort of line. But the boy knew wolves well enough to give up his precious hoodie.

Derek buried his face into the cloth and breathed it in. It smelt like magic, of pine, and of something indescribably Stiles.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Derek replied honestly. His voice was quiet. “Thank you.”

“I—you’re welcome.”

“Could I—could I hang on to this?”

Stiles sucked in a slow breath. A hard swallow. A choked reply, “Until the full moon is over. Just, uh, please be careful with it.” He felt practically naked without it.

“Promise.” And then, “thank you.” Derek didn’t stop shaking the whole night, but he had calmed down considerably.

 

* * *

 

 

“How’d you end up in this line of work?” Stiles asked over a plate of spaghetti.

Cameron looked up to sigh, twirling her fork through her pasta. “Family work. My brother became a lawyer but one of us had to keep going, you know? And I’m good at it.”

“Okay, but why do you hate werewolves so much?”

Cameron blinked over at Stiles, squinting at him. “What do you mean?”

Stiles huffed with exasperation. “Well, you hunt them down right? Take them in dead or alive. So why?”

She considered his words for a bit before shaking her head. “They’re not—I don’t….It isn’t like that. They’re not human. Those things are demons. They walk and talk and live among us but they’re not us. Those monsters can’t love, can’t understand humanity. All they want is to destroy.”

Stiles stared back. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“No, you really are. There are good wolves and bad wolves just the same way that there are good humans and bad humans. It’s ridiculous to hate them just because they’re different,” Stiles argued. He eyed her suspiciously. “Unless you hate magic users too?”

“Of course not! But magic users are still human. You know, my brother is a magic user? Just a low level one.”

“Then how come he isn’t jailed up here?” Stiles demanded.

“Because he declared himself one among the hunters. He agreed to help should they call upon him.”

“So because I didn’t want to be some hunters tool I should be punished and used?”

Cameron sighed, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t say that. I don’t necessarily agree with the way things are run when it comes to magic users. But you’re a level 4! Do you know how rare that is?”

“I do, actually.”

“Give it a month. Maybe two. They’ll have strategies and ideas on how to use someone like you. You can make a difference.”

Stiles dropped his fork, pushing away his plate still half full. “ _Use me._ To hurt people.”

“Werewolves,” she argued.

Stiles sneered at her. “And you want to pretend they’re the monsters.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was two days after the full moon. Derek could still feel the desperate need for pack and touch but it was less needy. Still, he was reluctant to let Stiles have his hoodie back. It was a worn, red thing that was practically saturated in Stiles. He must have worn it all the time.

Derek knew that next month would be worse and he couldn’t be sure that Stiles would be there for it. He wanted to hoard the hoodie for himself. Keep the strong smell of _pack_ and the comfort it gave him. He slept with it at night, using it as a pillow like he knew Stiles usually did. But he kept his nose buried deep in the fabric.

Finally, Derek cleared his throat. “I should give you your hoodie back.”

Stiles looked up at him through the bars of his cell. “Maybe you need it more than I do,” Stiles commented.

“It was your Mom’s,” Derek said simply, shrugging. He could understand that. If he had anything, anything at all to remember them by…

“It was my Mom’s,” Stiles agreed, clearing his throat. “But I’ll give it back to you before the next full moon, okay?”

Derek’s shoulders sagged with relief, making throwing the thing across to Stiles far easier. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said, zippering it back on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles whispered through the dark. “We’re friends, right?”

Derek sighed, stretching out along the cold of the cell floor. “You’re just my crazy neighbor that won’t go away.”

“Well fuck you, too,” Stiles snorted. He shuffled a bit, turning over to look at Derek. “But seriously.”

“You want to be my friend?” Derek asked incredulously.

Stiles squinted at him, considering it for a moment before laying back again. “It’s too late. You’re already my friend. I’ve already moved in and everything.”

Derek rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but be a little pleased. Not that he’d admit that to Stiles. “I don’t see what I’m getting out of this arrangement.”

“Please,” Stiles laughed. “I’m the best kind of friend. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Sure,” Derek agreed but didn’t say anything else.

Stiles began to tap the ground softly. “I think my magic’s all grown back.”

“Yeah? No more pain?” Derek figured it was about. It’d been a bit over two weeks since Stiles had arrived.

Stiles shook his head before remembering he was in the dark. “No, no more pain. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek muttered. “My eye sight is better than yours. I can see you pretty well.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.”

“I guess,” Derek said and his eyes flashed for a moment.

“You should flash your eyes blue more,” Stiles informed him. “That way I have an easier time figuring out where you are.”

Derek went still, taking that in. He concentrated a moment, focusing on Stiles’ heartbeat. “It doesn’t….they don’t scare you?”

That seemed to throw Stiles. “Scare me? Your eyes? Why would that scare me? First of all, it isn’t like you can actually get to me even if I was scared of you. Secondly, didn’t we just decide we were friends? I feel safer with you than I do with the hunters.”

Derek felt his mouth twitch into a smile. “You ever meet a werewolf before?”

“Hmm?” Stiles said. “Oh, yeah. I guess.”

Derek stared at Stiles, startled. As far as Derek knew, there weren’t many werewolves out there anymore. But Stiles didn’t elaborate. He didn’t set off on a rambling story or explain what he meant. He just fell silent.

“You don’t want to be my friend,” Derek said at last. “You should be afraid of me.”

Stiles frowned at him through the dark. “Sure I do. I mean, you’re a bit grumpy but you’re better than the wall.”

“I’m serious,” Derek told him, sighing. “I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not that bad.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“Hmm? What is?”

“You being in here, a prisoner. All the dead werewolves and the prisoners. These camps. This war. My family. It’s all my fault, okay?”

“No it isn’t Derek. That is crazy.”

Derek didn’t know how to make himself stop. He needed Stiles to know. To be afraid of him. And it was his biggest fear that Stiles would fear him after he knew.

“Before…before they began to hunt us all, I lived with my family. We were peaceful and good as far as packs went. But I was stupid. I met a girl, pretty and funny and she actually liked me. Her name was Kate.”

“What—?”

“Kate _Argent,_ Stiles. I fell in love with her. And she tricked me. She set my house on fire and burned my family to the ground.” Derek was crying by now, huddled in the corner farthest from Stiles as the words came spilling out. “She killed them all and started a war. But I survived. I survived so that I could live the rest of my life knowing how much blood was on my hands.”

“You’re the last of the Hale’s,” Stiles said after a long moment.

Derek could hear the pounding of his heart from across the way. Surely now, Stiles would fear him. Would hate him.

“I’m so sorry, Derek.”

Derek’s head snapped upward to stare, transfixed on the boy.

“You were just a kid, Derek. And you didn’t know. She did this. Kate Argent is a bitch who only wants to rip this world apart. That isn’t you. She took your family from you and I am so sorry. I am so sorry, Derek. Because no one should live with that kind of guilt—someone else’s guilt. You were a kid.” Stiles was silent for a moment. “Jesus—that’s why you’re her ‘favorite’ isn’t it? Why you’re in here. Oh my God that woman can go fuck herself!”

“I—I,” Derek couldn’t speak. All thoughts lost in his head and words in his throat.

“We’re friends, Derek,” Stiles said sternly. “And I won’t let anyone say such horrible things about my friends. Not even themselves. I’m telling you it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m going to sleep,” Derek announced loudly. It was a quivering anger that found its way into his voice.

“Fine,” Stiles sighed, and then. “But really, Derek. This isn’t your fault. Kate did this. Kate is responsible for this. I—I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself for what that psych did.” He stopped talking then and Derek just laid in the silence until Stiles laid down, apparently accepting that Derek wasn’t going to speak. “Good night, Derek.”

 

 

* * *

 

Cameron lead Stiles into the mess hall as she explained the surreal stupidity of her sister in law. She picked up a plate and handed it to Stiles. “It’s like she is purposely trying to piss me off!”

Stiles looked down to see a burger again. They were a common food dished out at the mess since they were fairly easy to make. He also had an apple, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water.

“Well, she certainly sounds like a bitch,” Stiles admitted, opening his bag of chips first.

“I know!” Cameron nodded furiously. “I just—oh! Hey, Cody!”

A man passing their usual table stopped to turn at the sound of his name. His face lite up at the sight of Cameron.

“Cameron! Long time no see,” he laughed, hugging her when she stood up to greet him.

Stiles watched through his eyelashes as both of them were busy talking. Neither were looking at him. Carefully and almost without even considering it, Stiles slid the burger out from the buns and into the sleeve of his hoodie. Heart thudding in his chest he quickly set to eating the bun and the lettuce and tomato quickly.

Cameron’s eyes flickered to him only once but she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. After a moment Cody agreed to sit down and eat with her, setting his food tray beside hers and continuing the conversation.

Stiles finished off his food, mind racing. He wasn’t sure what to do with the burger. Cameron would frisk him before he went back to his cell. He wouldn’t be able to keep it when they got back to the cells.

Suddenly his eyes caught on the shiny, metal bowl on the table. Derek’s bowl.

Finishing up the last of his food he nudged Cameron’s elbow. “I’ll grab the food if you want to keep talking,” he said, trying to seem uncaring and calm.

Cameron’s eyes brightened slightly and she smiled at him. “Thanks!”

Stiles breathed in through his nose, standing up on wobbly legs. “Sure,” he smiled back, taking the bowl with him. He could feel Cameron’s eyes on him even as he walked the length of the room, aware of all the hunters around him.

He was quick in his movements, casual and careful. The burger slipped from the wrist of his hoodie into the bowl. The man at the kitchen didn’t even bother to look at him or the bowl, just removed the top of the pot and scooped out some of the food right on top of the burger until you couldn’t see it. Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest—fear and adrenaline over something so simple.

He walked back towards Cameron, searching for her in the room until he found her waiting for him by the door. When he neared she looked at the bowl only briefly before ushering him back outside.

Stiles carried the bowl the entire way back to the cells. He tried to remain calm, careful not to spill the bowl or trip. The journey seemed to take longer than usual. As they got to the building she did her usual pat down before leading him down to the cells again.

She never even looked twice at the bowl.

Stiles carefully set it at the edge of Derek’s cell before ducking into his own, not even waiting until she told him to. Cameron eyed him suspiciously and Stiles wondered if he was giving himself away, but she just offered a small smile. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed with a sigh. “I’ll see ya.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Cameron teased as she went up the steps. And then she was gone.

A few moments passed—Derek probably waiting until her footsteps were far away as an overly paranoid habit. “What happened?” Derek demanded. “Your heart is out of control.”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles insisted, sitting down against the back of the cell.

“You seem anxious,” Derek accused, and then there was the sound of shuffling. The scraping noise of the bowl being picked up.

“I’m fine,” Stiles assured him, waiting.

The sound of Derek eating was usually a slurping kind of sound—fast and uninterested in the gross food he was given. This time however, there was a sudden pause in sound followed by a gasp. “Oh my God,” Derek said as if something miraculous had happened.

Derek had found the burger.

Stiles felt stupid for being so excited. It wasn’t even that big a deal. Besides, he had only managed to smuggle it in by ruining it. “Sorry I couldn’t get it to you without slathering it in that nasty concoction they pretend is food but—I didn’t know how to sneak it in otherwise.”

“Shut up,” Derek ordered so fiercely that Stiles had a confused moment of thinking something was wrong. But then Derek was groaning softly at what Stiles assumed was the first bite of real food in ages.

 

Derek tried to take small bites, to savor. But the burger vanished in his hands far earlier than he would have liked. He greedily licked at his fingers, shutting his eyes as he tasted. Too quickly it was gone. Still, it was the best thing he thought he’d ever tasted. He had to take a long stretch of a moment after finishing the patty before he could make himself speak. “Thank you,” he managed to whisper though he felt close to tears over something so simple.

“Don’t sweat it,” Stiles answered, his voice as enthusiastic and kind as always. As if it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was nothing.

The kid had willingly given up some of his food to risk his own safety to smuggle to Derek. And Derek hadn’t had real food in such a long time that the memory of it was something he sometimes thought perhaps he was over-romanticizing. But no, food really was that good.

“Seriously, Stiles,” Derek said, gaining a bit more volume as he collected himself, “thank you.”

“I can’t make any promises about how often I can—”

“I know,” Derek cut him off, closing his eyes. “Just, thanks.”

Stiles was silent for a long time. It was almost unsettling to Derek. But after a good while he spoke in a hushed tone as if, yeah, he got it. “You’re welcome, Derek.”

Derek let the moment sink in again, licking his lips and shutting his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, Derek, when you get out of here…where will you go?”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes at the stone wall as he laid curled up. His back was to Stiles as he attempted to sleep. “Stiles, if I ever get out of this hell hole it’ll be in a body bag.”

Stiles huffed a frustrated sound, “But say you did. Let’s just say we busted out of here, where would you go?”

Derek let his eyes shut lazily. “What’s it matter?”

There was a long pause before there was a reply. Derek was beginning to lull into sleep when Stiles cut across the peace.

“When I get out of this place I’ll go back home, to my camp. I’ll sleep in my bed again and read books and use my freaking computer. And I’ll help make sure each and every one of these camps is ripped apart.”

Derek blinked his eyes open, processing, “That sounds…nice, actually.”

“It is nice. It isn’t perfect, but it’s somewhere to go. That’s all I need I guess, a place to go,” Stiles said and Derek could hear the soft longing in his voice.

Derek rolled over slowly to face the boy. He was sitting, leaning against the bars that separated him from the hall between the cells. His eyes were shut with his forehead resting between two of the bars.

With a slow measured breath Derek said, “Well then, I guess if I ever get out of here…I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah?”

Derek watched Stiles smile, still leaning against the bars with his eyes closed.

“Yeah. If you and your camp didn’t mind,” Derek told him, clearing his throat softly. Derek would never admit it, but even saying something as silly as that admission made him uncomfortable. Like he should brace for rejection.

Derek could hear the happy lilt in Stiles’ voice then as he said, “see? Now you’ve got a plan. It’s a good plan.”

Derek settled back down, this time facing Stiles. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We’ll get out of here Derek, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“No,” Stiles groaned, “I’m serious. And then you can live again.”

“I’m alive right now.”

“This isn’t living, Derek.”

Derek shut his eyes. “Better than the alternative.”

Stiles shifted to slowly then lay across the cold ground with his eyes pointed towards the ceiling. “No, it really isn’t.” Stiles shuffled about a bit, like he was trying to get comfortable. “But we’ll get out of here and then you can come with me. You can read books again. I’ll show you my computer. Hell, I’ll even share my bed with you…Wait—I mean—”

A surprise laugh came out of Derek’s mouth but it sounded more like an amused bark.

“Shut up,” Stiles said, obviously flustered. “Just for that, you can sleep on the floor.”

Derek chuckled, then sighing lightly, reopening his eyes. “There is no getting out of here though, Stiles. No dramatic escapes. There is no happy ending. There is no one coming to save us.”

“There is someone coming,” Stiles whispered so lightly that Derek almost missed it.

Derek snorted, opening his eyes again to cast an amused look at Stiles. “You don’t really believe in all the stories, do you? About the secret packs hiding in the north or about the werewolf underground railroad or the Red Witch.”

Stiles sat up so quickly it looked as if he might snap his neck. His eyes were wide, focused on Derek. “You’ve heard of the Red Witch?”

Derek studied Stiles curiously. The boy’s sudden but obvious nervousness could be tasted in the air even if it wasn’t plain upon his face. “They’re just stories, Stiles. Things people tell each other and themselves to make them feel better. They’re for hope.” And maybe Derek shouldn’t be doing that, squashing Stiles’ hope. For some, it was all they had. Derek didn’t even have that. But Stiles’ face didn’t fall, even slightly at Derek’s words.

“What if I told you that I knew, without a doubt that the Red Witch did exist?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Derek asked, squinting across at the boy.

Stiles shifted awkwardly, a hand reaching up to scrub softly at the back of his neck. “Well, I kind of know the Red Witch on a…personal level.”

Derek shot up, no longer sitting but standing and striding towards the bars frantically. There was no lie in Stiles’ words. His heart stayed steady. Still, Derek was skeptical as he held the bars in his hands and stared at the boy. “You know a magic user that can turn into a Alpha with flashing red eyes and claws so sharp that it can cut through entire forests? You know a girl so beautiful, with hair red like blood and a voice that can rip trees from the ground and will from men? You know this girl, this beautiful Alpha witch, with magic so strong that all things are suddenly possible?”

“Oh my God,” Stiles gasped, his face cracking up into a smile. “That isn’t what they say, you’re joking.” But when Derek’s eyes stayed intense, Stiles shook his head in amusement. “God, Lydia would be thrilled to hear that. I mean, she’s beautiful but her hair is more….strawberry blonde. And Scott—”

“Jesus,” Derek breathed out quickly, gripping the bars tighter. “Are you trying to tell me this—no. Talk, Stiles.”

“Hmmm?” Stiles blinked over, noticing Derek’s tension from stiff shadows in the dark. Carefully he leveled a look at the red eyes in the dark, offering a calm smile. “My dad and I used to travel around; used to stay away from Hunters that way. We were always moving. But when I was seven when I met Scott, a beta wolf on the run with his mother. Our parents teamed up because my Dad had a gun and a good shot, and she was an experienced nurse with a large medical supply. And the four of us did alright for a long while. Scott’s my best friend and his mother is the closest thing I’ve got to a mom now.” Stiles’ smile went a bit sad but he kept talking, keeping his eyes trained on Derek. “But one day, while we running from Hunters, we met a man named Deaton. He was a trainer for magic—werewolves, magic users and such, and he offered to train me. I accepted, hoping to learn to control my magic. I was ten.”

“But he already had another student,” Stiles continued, “a powerful young girl about my age named Lydia. She was freaky smart and scary passionate. God, I used to have the biggest crush on her. But Scott, Lydia and I got very close.”

Derek felt his eyes water, his hands shaking as the implication hit him. “Is—they say the Red Witch is so powerful that…is she—is your friend really trying to defeat the Hunters?”

Stiles looked away then. “Derek, I can honestly say that the Red Witch wants nothing more than to rip to Hunters apart. But the Red Witch can’t become an Alpha werewolf, or control the will of men with words. The—Jesus, you know how stupid that name is?— _Red Witch_ is just a magic user.”

“What’s the _Red Witches’_ magic pull register?” Derek demanded.

Stiles paused then before slowly looking at Derek and admitting in a low voice, “ten.”

Derek sucked in a ragged breath because Stiles’ heart didn’t skip a beat.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek said. “ _Just a magic user._ ” He scoffed. “No one has ever even heard of someone being that powerful.” Magic users were usually untaught, ones or twos. A few, very rare few, were threes or fours like Stiles, even the occasional five. Those magic users were pretty powerful. But even then it was hard to very powerful without learning the right way. But a level ten—a level ten’s magic could be endless. A ten was supposed to be hypothetical. It was supposed to be theory. It wasn’t supposed to be much of anything in reality.

“Magic like that is a bit too raw though, not concentrated enough. It can be a bit…scary sometimes.”

“But given enough time she could potentially be unstoppable.” Derek dropped down to his knees at the implication. “A magic user like that could change _everything_.”

Stiles laid down again, tilting his head back. “Here’s hoping.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed and for the first time in many many years he felt hope.

 


	2. From the Burn of a Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was going to be 2 chapters but I changed my mind. Now it'll be 3. Sorry, sorry. I just didn't want to rush it. I realize my writing always seems like I'm rushing anyway so....
> 
> Thanks!

“No, seriously! I swear to God. This guy seriously thought I could put a curse on him and his family so that they’d have bad luck for the rest of forever!”

Derek laughed harder than he could remember in a long time. Stiles had that affect, putting him at ease. “Jesus, what an idiot!”

“I tried to explain,” Stiles continued, “that magic didn’t really work like that, but man I have met some weird people.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “The strangest people would end up here, particularly magic users. But cool ones too.”

“Like me?”

“Definitely not.”

“Asshole.”

“You know, back when they first began to capture magic users there was a girl that they brought in. They didn’t used to separate the wolves and the magic users and it was before I was brought in here so…I got to know her.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, arching an eyebrow. “What was her name?”

“Paige,” Derek said, smiling fondly at the dark. “We would all sit around, even some of the hunters, to watch her work her magic. They didn’t have cuffs yet and her magic wasn’t very strong anyway.”

“What was her pull?”

“Two.”

Stiles neared the bars of his cell as Derek neared his own and Stiles could almost make out his face. “So she had a specialty with her magic? What did she do?”

“Paige couldn’t really do much of anything. She wasn’t powerful. Wasn’t a threat to anyone or a help to their cause in most ways. All she did was make music. It was basically all she could do, but it was incredible. She’d lean back and start humming and then—there was music in the air. Violins and pianos and a chorus. When Paige’s music sang though the air the darkness went away. People stopped feeling hopeless. For a short while we could all pretend we were someone else.”

Stiles smiled, shutting his eyes and trying to picture it. “That sounds beautiful.”

Derek whined at the memory, shutting his own eyes to mimic Stiles. To hear that music again. “What I wouldn’t do to hear her music again. It was like she made happiness into a sound.” Derek’s eyes opened again then, flashing red with power and pain. “But they killed the music too.”

Derek slid down along the bars, holding them in his hands to catch himself even as his knees fell. “She wasn’t powerful enough to be much of a help to them so they would take her into the facility every day for testing. To help figure out how to make those cuffs. To make weapons. To cause more hurt. I don’t even know what they did to her, just that one day when Paige left the labs it was in a body bag.”

“Jesus, Derek. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, leaning his head against the bars. “At least she wasn’t around when I got put in here. That’d have broken her heart.”

Stiles tapped his head against the bars lightly, frowning. “They say that they don’t want to harm us. That we magic users are still human but…they don’t treat us like it.”

“Well,” Derek said with a small, sad grin, “she was a werewolf sympathizer.”

“Hunters are sick fucks,” Stiles announced loudly, and then sighing softly. “I’m sorry about your friend. I wish I could have met her.”

“She’d have liked you,” Derek told him. “She liked almost everyone actually. But she particularly liked strong magic users that didn’t act superior.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. “Please. I am superior.”

Derek tapped his ear then with an amused look. “Lie. You don’t really believe that.”

“Oh you caught me.”

“She always talked about a rebellion. She would say that people would rise up and save us all.”

“Maybe she was right.”

“Then I’ll be sad she missed it,” Derek replied with a fond tone. It wasn’t hard to talk to Stiles about Paige. It was nice, almost.

“Was she—were you two romantically involved?” Stiles asked softly.

Derek huffed, tilting his head from side to side. “It’s hard to explain. I was 19 and she was beautiful. Maybe I would have fallen in love with her. Maybe we would have stayed good friend. I don’t know.”

Stiles nodded in acceptance.

“But the red—err, Lydia. Your friend. Are you two,” Derek’s voice suddenly went awkward and his face heated up, “involved,” he finished lamely.

Stiles laughed. “No! No, Lydia is just a friend. I thought I was in love with her for the longest time, but she’s more like my sister.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up. “Nah, I don’t have any romantic attachments.”

“That’s, uh good—err, fine,” Derek coughed slightly but fell silent.

There was a lull in conversation then. But it wasn’t awkward of empty. It just was. And that was Derek’s favorite thing about having Stiles there. The kid was a constant stream of noise when he wanted to be. Stiles could keep a conversation going by being the only person talking. But when Stiles wanted, he could be silent for hours, thinking and staying silent. And never for one second did the silence stretch uncomfortably anymore.

“The next full moon is coming,” Stiles commented.

Derek shut his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He could feel it. It raced through is blood, a howl of its own. The need for comfort, as well as the need to run and hunt—it was building again.

“I know.”

“It’ll be okay,” Stiles promised. “You’ve got me to keep you company.”

“Just—keep talking for the next few days, okay?”

Stiles let out a snort. “Are you _asking_ me to ramble? I have no problem with that!”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Whatever buddy! You love it. I’m amazing, admit it.”

Derek pointedly rolled to his side to fall asleep, a smile playing at his lips anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Suppose mountain ash wasn’t an issue,” Stiles said.

Derek shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly and then reopened them. “What?”

“Imagine that mountain ash wasn’t a problem. Like you could cross it—could cut it.”

Derek raised his arms and then let them drop with a shrug. “So what?”

“So what would you do?” Stiles asked.

“Well I’d rip the fucking collar off my god damn throat so I could shift. I’d pry the bars of my cell off. I’d cut off the cuffs on your wrists. I’d cross the boundary keeping us in here. I’d free all the other captives. The only thing stopping me from doing any of that is mountain ash.”

“Right,” Stiles agreed.

Derek rolled his eyes. “So? What does it matter? Mountain ash is a problem for werewolves. That’s why they put some in your cuffs, in my collar, in the bars of the cells.”

“Exactly. It’s everywhere. It’s the only thing stopping werewolves from doing anything.”

“Yeah…” Derek agreed slowly. He was completely lost.

“So if just one could cross it, all the problems would be gone,” Stiles said happily. “It’s the same all the bases. All hunters rely on mountain ash.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed again with an impatient snap. “So?”

Stiles shrugged through the dark. “So nothing,” Stiles said simply. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. “When I get out of here I’m going to play my Xbox.”

Derek huffed an amused sigh. It was a repeating game for the two of them. Stiles found Derek was less imaginable than him but no less forthcoming with answers.

“When I get out of here,” Derek said, “I’m going to smack you upside the head.”

“When we get out of here,” Stiles said loudly, ignoring Derek’s un-fun answer, “I’m going to eat an entire tub of ice cream in one sitting.”

“When we get out of here,” Derek said and then paused to think a moment. “When we get out of here I’m going to eat a pancake the size of your head.”

“When we get out of here I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Cart.”

“When we get out of here I will spend an entire night gazing up at the stars.”

“Oooh, nice one! Can I join?” Stiles asked, staring up at the cold ceiling.

“Sure,” Derek chuffed, shutting his eyes and trying to imagine it.

“When we get out of here I’m going to take you to a fair. A big carnival with rides and music and games. And we’ll eat so much food it’ll be gross so when we go on the rides we puke all over.”

“That sounds horrible,” Derek said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Shut up, it’ll be great.”

“When we get out of here I’m going to read books and watch movies and feel the wind and run outside for hours and eat what I want and sleep on a soft bed with warm blankets and—and I am going to be free again.”

Stiles sat up to turn to look at Derek. “When we get out of here I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Derek stared back at him, the corners of his lips curling up slightly. He looked at Stiles, how serious his face seemed to be. “When we get out of here I’ll say yes.”

Stiles breath caught in his throat and all he could think was how badly he wished he could really see Derek at that point. “We are going to get out of here, Derek. I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”

“Yeah,” Derek said after a moment.

Stiles didn’t think it sounded like he really believed it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The full moon snuck up on them faster than they could have realized. Derek was already wrapped up in Stiles’ hoodie the night before the full moon, already feeling the effects.

“Stiles, stretch your arm out from the bars. Stiles, come on,” Derek urged, pressing his arms through the bars of his cell to reach towards the space between them.

“We’re too far apart, Derek. I won’t reach,” Stiles said, voice low and sad.

“You might. You might. Just try, Stiles. Please, come on.”

“Alright, Derek. I’ll try,” Stiles said kindly. He pushed his skinny arms though his cell, pressing his shoulders against the cold metal as he stretched. He strained, grunting low as he reached with slim fingertips towards Derek’s. There was still nearly a foot between their outstretched hands. “I’m sorry Derek, but we’re at least a foot too far apart.”

“Please.”

“Derek, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry, Derek.”

Derek was desperate. The need to connect to another person was making him shake. He desperately wanted to shift but the collar wouldn’t let him. “But if you could, you would? You’d help me, right Stiles?”

“Derek if I could I would give you the world’s biggest, warmest hug.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” Derek said as tears began to drop down his face. It hurt so much. So tight. So hot. So lonely.

“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m cold and tired, that’s all. I could use a hug too.”

“I’d hug you too, Stiles.”

Stiles’ face heated up and his voice dipped to a softened level. “Thanks, Derek.”

“I’d do anything for you, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, bud. We’re like pack. You and me.”

“You and me,” Derek repeated, stretching out once more like he could make the distance between them vanish on will alone.

Stiles built a cold rush of anger when he heard the long sob then, coming from low in Derek’s gut. Stiles was pretty sure Derek was crying. “Oh, Derek, It’ll be okay. I’m so sorry, buddy.”

Derek’s voice sounded grainy and sad. “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he sobbed softly, so vulnerable.

Stiles felt his own eyes brimming with tears then. “Damn it, Derek you’re not alone. I’m right here. I promise it’ll be alright. You’ll never be alone again. I’m right here.”

Derek let out another whine.

Neither of them sleep that night. Derek couldn’t cope with the pain and the need and the pull of the moon. Stiles couldn’t sleep through the whines anyway so he spent half the night talking about whatever came to mind. His breath would catch in his throat every time he looked over at the shadowy outline of Derek, hunched in with pain.

Stiles couldn’t stand it, listening to Derek hurt so much.

Before they knew it, morning came. Derek’s head shot up to look at Stiles as he always did when the sound of footsteps neared the door upstairs.

“Derek,” Stiles called to him suddenly, his voice rough, “when Cameron comes to get me…stand by your cell bars right across from my cell door. Get as close to the divide as you can.”

“Why would I—”

“Just do it,” Stiles said firmly. “Trust me, okay?”

Derek fell silent even as he felt like he was vibrating beneath his skin. And then a soft shuffling sound could be heard as Derek moved closer to the bars to wait.

Cameron came down the steps humming, shouting out her usual greeting to Stiles. She paused a moment to see Derek so close to the cell bars. Usually Derek was as far away from hunters as he could get, sinking in to the shadows. She shook her head though, unlocking Stiles’ door.

“Come on, kid. It’s _Chicken Sandwich Day!_ ” she sang with a laugh.

Stiles smiled at her with an eye roll but made to follow her up the steps as usual. But instead, he swiveled to the side to face Derek.

Stiles took a deep breath and then dove. He slammed himself hard against Derek’s cell bars and reached clumsily through the open spaces between the rungs. He grabbed hold of Derek and pulled. He yanked Derek hard so that he was as close to the werewolf as the bars would allow him. Derek stiffened as Stiles fastened his arms around him an in awkward embrace.

The stiffness melted quickly as it had come and Derek pressed into Stiles, straining against the bars as tension seeped out of him. Warmth spread across his chest as he found relief in the contact. His wolf inwardly howled with joy even as it relaxed for the moment. It was like lying in the sun, content and warm. Stiles smelt of familiarity, a sharp smell laced with sweat and magic.

Their foreheads touched through the bars as their cheeks rested on either side of the metal. Grips tightened, eyes met. Stiles smiled at Derek and the wolf wondered for a moment, how easy it would be to tilt his head and close the distance between their mouths.

And then Stiles was being yanked away again.

“Get the fuck up, ya dumbass! Get up!” Cameron screamed, her grip hard and unforgiving. “You fucking stupid boy, getting near a feral animal like that. You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Stiles yelped and Derek growled as he was ripped away from the cell bars. Then Stiles was being manhandled up the steps and out of sight, unable to even look back once at Derek.

Derek just breathed heavily. He tried to regain control, half wolfed-out and leaning against the bars for support. The desperation was lighter now but the wolf inside him cried in outrage as the relief was gone.

But the warmth in his chest stayed.

“Jesus,” Cameron said as she shut the door at the top of the steps and gripped Stiles shoulders to look him over. She covered her chest with a hand like it could slow her heartbeat. “Kid I thought he was going to kill you! You should know better than to get that close to a werewolf—especially near the full moon!”

“Derek wasn’t going to hurt me,” Stiles snapped defensively.

“Stiles, you are so naïve. You don’t know half of what those monsters are capable of. Man, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d been hurt.”

“Rejoice loudly,” Stiles glowered.

“Don’t be stupid,” she smacked him lightly upside the head. “I like you, Stiles. You’re smart and you’re funny. I don’t want you getting killed. Besides, Kate Argent would have my head if I let a level 4 magic user die.”

Stiles let her pull him by his arm out of the building, frowning. “This is so stupid. I hate you all.”

“Love you too,” she grumbled, sighing as they made their way to the mess hall. “Look, the higher-ups will probably bring you up soon. You’ll get your own room, your own bed. You won’t have to deal with a whining monster beside you. You just need to last a bit longer. I promise things will get good soon. You’ll see.”

“Good for who?” Stiles demanded but settled for silence for the rest of their time together. He glowered over lunch. Eating loudly and glaring back at her watchful eyes.

On their way back Stiles begged her to let him get close to Derek again, just for a minute so the man could survive the night with minimal discomfort. But she wouldn’t allow it, pushed him straight into his cell and locked the door quickly.

“It’s for your safety, Stiles. They’re blood thirsty.”

“You’re so damn blind,” Stiles said in reply, looking away from her until she was gone.

Her absence made the cell’s silence suddenly very obvious.

Derek cleared his throat after a moment. “Hey, uh—what you did earlier. That—it was—thanks. I really really needed that. It was…nice.”

“Sure,” Stiles said with a smile. He couldn’t tell in the dark, at least not until his eyes adjusted a bit better again, but Stiles was certain that Derek was watching him. “I thought it was nice, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“But that didn’t happen until well into the nineteenth century,” Stiles rambled as he tried to distract Derek from the full moon that night. It was getting late into the night and the full moon was bright in the sky outside. The day before had been hard enough on Derek but the night was being particularly difficult.

“No,” Derek said suddenly, cutting Stiles off.

“What? Yes it did,” Stiles said turning to look at him but Derek was frantically backing into the corner of his cell. “Derek?”

“No no no no,” the man repeated, breathing heavily.

“Derek what’s—”

The door to the stairs opened suddenly with a loud screech. Stiles turned as a woman stepped down the steps slowly, a loud ‘click’ echoing with each step of her high heeled boots. She had a light in her hands, held limp in her wrist as she sashayed towards them. Long, blonde curls swayed with each movement. “Did you miss me?” she said, voice low and slippery until she was at the bottom step.

“Kate,” Stiles breathed out but she didn’t even look at him, eyes fixed on the darkness of Derek’s cell. With purposeful slowness she raised her light until it was shining on Derek.

He was plastered to the wall, eyes large and neon blue and full of terror. His entire body was trembling as he stared at her with a blank face.

“Not going to say hello, Derek?”

“Hi, Kate,” Derek said slowly with an angry growl.

“Jennifer was sorry she couldn’t make it but she was so busy tonight,” Kate informed him, leaning forward. “If you don’t come a little closer Derek I’m going to have to come to you.” And that—that sounded like a threat.

Derek steeled himself, rolling off the wall and visibly swallowing hard. Stiles hadn’t seen Derek fully until this moment. But what he saw scared him. Derek looked terrified and angry all at once. He stepped towards Kate slowly, his hands clenched tight to white knuckles.

He stopped a foot from where she stood just at his cell bars. But she crooked her finger, beaconing him closer.

He took in a shaky breath and stepped closer again until they were mere inches apart.

“Oh I have missed you,” Kate informed him with a smile of red stained lips. She cocked her head to the side. We used have so much fun together, you and I. But now that Daddy let me have so much area to take care of…I’m always so busy. I regret not being able to come and play as often anymore. We used to play such wonderful games, Derek. Do you remember?”

Kate leaned in towards him until her lips were nearly touching his ear lobe. She was so close he could feel her body heat hovering just outside the bars of the cell. A familiar perfume filled his nose as the taste of bile filled his mouth. Derek could feel the soft puffs of breath against his skin as she whispered, “ _Ashes, Ashes. They all. Fall. Down_.”

“Hey!” Stiles shouted, shaking the bars of his cell furiously. “Leave him alone!”

Kate pulled back to smile wickedly at Derek’s frightened demeanor. “Oh, Derek. Have you made a new friend?”

Derek let out a whine, soft and unintentional.

“Leave him alone, Kate,” Stiles demanded.

But Kate twirled around to face Stiles, taking the few steps to be near him. “I remember you. The level four magic user. Tell me, when was the last time you did magic?”

Stiles’ face went hard, his eyes narrowed and his lips pulled down. “Fuck off.”

“No, really,” she pressed. “I bet you’re just itching for it. You probably used to use your magic daily. To not use it in so long has to be,” she laughed, “torture.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles sneered, “they’re not really big on hospitality here.”

Kate grinned. “You’re right, I’ve been a terrible host. How would you like to use some of that magic of yours?”

Derek let out a snarl.

“What—”

Kate held up a hand to stop him and her eyes locked with the cuffs around his wrist. “Anyone tell you how those things work?” she took a step back, eyeing him maliciously. “Mage, you will use your magic to cast a ring of fire around Derek that will keep burning until morning.”

Stiles recoiled, opening his mouth to spit angry words, but he stopped as the clench on his magic suddenly released, burning at the tips of his fingers. “How?”

But Kate merely smiled at him, moving to the side so that Stiles could see Derek, eyes clenched shut and waiting. “Your magic belongs to me, Stiles. I can command it as I please. You’re just the instrument I use to get it. If you do the spell now, willingly it won’t hurt you but if you wait,” she paused to smile. “You’ll find it’s going to start hurting—a lot.”

And Kate was right. Stiles could feel it beginning to thrash at him, demanding he use the magic as Kate dictated. He tried quickly to use his magic to break the cell door but his magic just screamed more until he dropped to his knees.

He heard Kate cackle and Derek whine.

He couldn’t use his magic how he wanted but he had to make a ring of fire around Derek as she had said. Stiles clenched his teeth together, thinking quickly.

He sucked in a deep breath as the pain got unbearable, and released the magic that threatened to tear him apart. Heat raced into the air, filling the space and shifting through the cell.

Stiles’ body cried out in relief that he didn’t know he needed as he used his magic. Still, it felt cold and tainted by Kate. But his heart cracked as he stared at Derek’s horror-filled face as fire wrapped round him.

Flames flickered around Derek. His breathing stuttered to a halt, trapping itself tightly in his chest. No. No. _No._ He drew his knees in and coiled up in fear. Fire. Fire. No. He was shaking, his heart was pounding, his eyes watered. _No. Fire. God, please, no._

“Oh what a pretty picture,” Kate cooed, holding the bars to Derek’s cell as she stared at him. “Fear looks good on you, Derek.”

Stiles wanted to scream at her but he was breathing heavy, gasping for air as the cuffs tightened on his magic again. All he could do was stare at Derek.

Kate turned to Stiles. “He never could get over fire. I suppose watching your entire family burn slowly, smelling their flesh as they went and listening to their every screams and every beat of their hearts…until they stopped, of course.”

Stiles shuddered, unable to breathe as he could feel the heat in the cells rise from the fire. Perhaps it would have been a pleasant warmth if not for the terror across from him.

“I’d love to stay,” Kate continued, “but unfortunately I have things to do yet. But don’t worry, I’ll be back for the next full moon to make it up to you. Wouldn’t you like that, Derek?” Her eyes flickered over to Stiles. “As for your boyfriend, well I’ll have brought him up to the rest of the world by then but maybe he can come along to so he can visit. Would you like that, pet?”

Derek let out a cry, hunching in on himself as he tried to make himself as small as possible to escape the flames.

“I thought so,” she laughed, spinning on her heels to head up the steps again. “Until next time, puppy!” She stopped just before she reached the door and called over her shoulder, “and lover boy? Try not to beat yourself up too much. Derek needs to remember what he is.” And then she was gone.

 Stiles scrambled upwards, leaning against the bars of his cell the moment she was out of sight. “Derek. Derek!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek croaked out, pulling himself in tighter. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

“Derek, I know you’re scared but I need you to look at me. Derek, look at me. It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. Look at me, Derek.”

But Derek just squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “Can’t,” he managed to grit out. “Fire.”

“I know, buddy. I know,” Stiles said desperately, “but I need you to open your eyes and look at me. Okay, Derek? Just look at me.”

Derek took a few shuddery breathes before forcing himself to slowly open his eyes. He locked his gaze on Stiles’ looking only at his eyes. He tried to ignore the hot flames that licked in his peripheral vision.

“Good,” Stiles relaxed slightly, pushing against his bars. “You’re fine, Derek. Just, tell me, whose fire is that?”

Derek’s whole body trembled. “Kate’s.”

Stiles kept their eyes locked together even as he shook his head. “No, come on, Derek. Who made that fire?”

Derek paused, afraid and unsure. “You made the fire.”

“That’s right. So it’s my fire, okay Derek?” Stiles agreed with a vigorous nod this time. “Would I hurt you, Derek? Derek, answer me. Would I hurt you?”

Derek’s words came out choked, uneven, but his answer was a solid, “no,” even as his body shook.

“No,” Stiles agreed again. “I would never hurt you. So my fire, Derek, it will never hurt you either. It isn’t like Kate’s fire, Derek. It’s my fire, and it won’t hurt you, because I would never hurt you.”

“Trapped,” Derek told him miserably, his eyes sliding to the flames that circled around him. “It’ll burn me.”

“No, Derek. Come on, look at me. That’s my fire and it isn’t trapping you. My fire isn’t a cage. You hear me Derek? My fire is a shield. It’s a shield. No one can hurt as long as you’re in my fire. My fire won’t hurt you, either. Come on, Derek.” Stiles smiles encouragingly. “I need you to do something, Derek. Reach out and your hand to the fire, Derek. I promise it won’t hurt you. Just put your hand against the flames.”

Derek recoiled slightly at the idea. His stomach churned as he tried desperately to make himself smaller to get far away from the flames. “They’ll hurt.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly. “My fire would only burn bad people, like Kate.”

“I’m bad.”

“No, you’re not, Derek. I promise my fire won’t hurt you. You trust me, Derek. You can trust me. Reach for the fire. My fire won’t hurt you, Derek.”

Derek listened to Stiles’ words and lifted his hand hesitantly, letting his hand flatten from the tightly clenched fist. He reached out slowly, ready to yank his hand back any second. But when his fingers were licked by the flames he didn’t burn.

“How does it feel, Derek? You okay, buddy?”

“Warm.”

“Yeah, not hot, right? Just nice and warm. My fire won’t burn you.”

“No. Doesn’t hurt,” Derek admitted with wonder. He turned his hand around in the flames, watching the fire flicker around his skin without pain or burns.

“See? It’s protecting you so bad people can’t get to you right now. No one can hurt you there. You’re safe in that fire circle. Derek? You know I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, watching his hand around the flame, growing more confident. “I’m safe.”

“Because it isn’t Kate’s fire.”

“No, it’s your fire. Your fire won’t burn me. It’s protecting me.”

“Good,” Stiles said quickly, “that’s…good.”

Derek stretched out a little more, hesitant but less scared as he eyed the flickering flames. After a short while, Derek curled up, watching the fire around him. Soon his eyes were filled with wonder as he stared into the flames, feeling the warmth like a kind touch. He kept rotating his hand through the fire, grasping at it.

The fire was gone by morning; Stiles watched them extinguish just as Kate had ordered. But he smiled fondly down at Derek who hadn’t even noticed because he was fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles refused to talk to Cameron. He barely even looked at her. She had to half drag him to the mess hall, trying to coax some words out of him. He wouldn’t have it though, choosing to keep his eyes fixed on the ground and the sky instead.

Finally, as they neared the mess hall Cameron stopped trying for useless conversation. She stopped him with her outstretched arm and sighed. “Alright, tell me what’s wrong.”

Stiles looked at her just long enough to glare, but then he pointedly looked away.

“Come on, Stiles. If this about you leaving the cells I promise you’ll be out of there by next week. I swear.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then what is it?”

Stiles pinched his lips together tightly before sighing, dropping his defensive stance in favor of staring at Cameron with pure grief. “Kate Argent visited Derek last night.”

“Oh,” Cameron said, lifting an eyebrow. “So?”

Stiles swallowed, clenching his fist in an attempt to stave off the desire to take a swing at the hunter before him. “She used _my magic_ to set a ring around a man who,” his voice cut off a moment but he picked it back up, “a man who witnessed his entire family burn to death.” He felt his eyes prickle with tears and his fists clench. “You keep him in a cell, alone during the full moon when his instincts are begging him for comfort and pack and human touch. You feed him gruel and call it food. He gets no shower, no bathroom, just a corner. He hasn’t seen the sky in two years. And you want to tell me that _he is the monster?”_

Cameron took a step back from Stiles, startled by his tone. “Stiles, he isn’t really a person,” she tried to tell him.

“We don’t even treat animals like that!” Stiles all but shouted. “But you think it is okay for Kate Argent to seduce him and then set his family on fire! To make him watch and listen and smell as his family dies slowly in a fire! And then to torture him with flames!”

Cameron licked her lips, eyes darting around to see who was standing about. “I told you I didn’t agree with how things were run around here. But you have to understand—these _things,_ they don’t have souls. They just have a drive to kill. They aren’t capable of love.”

By the way her whole body jerked on contact, Stiles figured Cameron hadn’t seen the slap coming. He breathed heavily, watching her grasp her cheek, hand darting to his belt where her gun was kept.  But she froze, slowly turning to look at him with a blank face and red cheek. She just stared at him.

“His favorite color is blue,” Stiles informed her with a high voice. “Of all the food he misses, he craves chocolate the most! Not that I blame him. He used to love the Narnia series. He never got along with his older sister, Laura, but now he misses her the most. Kate Argent made me use my magic to scare him and _he_ apologized to _me!”_

Cameron moved her hand away from her belt, eyeing Stiles like he was a crazy person. She remained silent for a moment before putting her hands in her pockets. “You might not understand or agree with me, Stiles. But we’re doing what we’re doing because the humans of this world need to be safe. And they can’t be safe until the werewolves are caught. I know you’re upset and angry, but you just don’t know any better.”

Stiles wiped at his eyes where he found hot tears. “That might be what you tell yourself to get to sleep at night, but don’t expect me to drink from your God damn Kool-Aid.”

She turned then, whipping her head away from him and stepping towards the mess hall. Stiles followed and neither of them said a word for the rest of the day. They sat in silence through the whole meal, neither of them even looking at the other. They walked back without so much as an acknowledgment of each other.

Instead of frisking him as usual, Cameron just awkwardly patted him down half-ass and quickly. She paused before she left though, looking in Derek’s direction. Her eyes fell on his bowl she’d just set down and then she was gone, up the steps and far from them at a quick pace.

Stiles sighed, back to his bars and Derek. A moment passed.

“How did you do it?” Derek asked.

Stiles stretched his arms above his head. “Do what?”

“The…the fire thing.”

Stiles chuckled and spread his fingers out to shake his hands slightly. “Magic.”

“Seriously, Stiles,” Derek said.

Stiles’ smirk dropped from his face to be replaced by a faint frown. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Derek cried incredulously.

“I just didn’t want you hurt, okay? What’s wrong with that?”

Derek gripped the bars of his cell, pressing close to stare at Stiles. “Nothing. I just didn’t—it just seemed like really complex magic to do so quickly.”

“Well, sorry,” Stiles snapped, “I didn’t mean to freak you out!”

“No!” Derek said quickly, ducking his head when he felt his face starting to heat up, thankful for Stiles’ human eyes. “I just—thank you. Okay? I feel like I’ve always got something to thank you for. And I can’t—there’s nothing I can do to pay you back. But I—I do appreciate it. All of it.”

Stiles shrugged. “You’re welcome. I don’t want to be ‘paid back’ I just…I like you, Derek. I don’t want you to suffer. I wish I could do more.”

“You,” Derek started and then stopped, staring at Stiles. “You’re really something, you know that, Stiles?”

Stiles snorted, looking over at Derek. “You know, that might be the first time anyone ever said that to me and didn’t mean it in a way that was at least a little insulting.”

Derek looked away, clearing his throat. “That didn’t sound insulting to you? I must be losing my touch.”

“Oh I know you’re secret, sourwolf! You’re really a nice guy,” Stiles smiled. “But you can trust me with the secret. I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Yeah, you’re really something,” Derek repeated, a bit snippier.

“Hey!” Stiles said with a scowl but it cracked into a grin as the laughter bubbled out of him.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Cameron came in and simply stood at the bottom of the steps with her arms crossed over her body. “Kate Argent says you’re getting out permanently as of tomorrow.”

Stiles watched her from his cell, leaning on his bars as she neared him. The keys weren’t in her hands. “Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He tried to stay calm. He felt like he was going to throw up. He wouldn’t be around Derek anymore. The man would be alone and Stiles wouldn’t be able to watch, to help during full moons.

“Yeah,” Cameron snapped, stopping just outside his cell. “So she says to tell you that you’d better say good bye to your boyfriend.” She paused, eyes flickering to Derek’s cell and then back to Stiles. “So, you know I figured I’d give you some extra time together,” she said with a mean sneer. “I don’t see why I should take you out today.”

Stiles frowned, glaring at her. So she was punishing him for yesterday. To be fair, he did hit her, and she hadn’t pistol whipped him.

She dug into her pocket suddenly and tossed something through the bars to Stiles. “Here,” she said sharply. “Take it because that’s all you’re getting today.”

Cameron spun on her heels and stalked to the steps as Stiles fumbled with whatever she’d chucked at his chest. She stopped again beside Derek’s cell. She glared at the ground just outside his cell. And then she was gone.

“Jesus,” Derek commented once she was gone. “What the hell happened to her?”

Stiles sniffed and brushed the shock away. “I was mad yesterday.”

“What did you do?” Derek demanded.

“I hit her.”

“What??”

“A slap, really,” Stiles clarified like that was better. He peered down at what felt like a large paper package, dreading what he’d find inside.

“That’s not—hey, what’s wrong?” Derek asked as he picked up at the sudden race of Stiles’ heart.

“It’s chocolate,” Stiles muttered softly as he tore open the paper with careful fingers.

“What?”

“It’s chocolate,” Stiles repeated louder, though he was sure that it wasn’t his volume of voice that had thrown Derek.

“She rewarded you for slapping her with chocolate?”

“Yesterday I said…I told her you craved…,” Stiles couldn’t speak as he stared down at the extra-large bar of Hershey’s chocolate. “It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, walking over to his bars to slide the bar with the wrapper beneath it across the floor towards Derek.

Shaking hands picked up the bar to study it and bring it to his nose to sniff it carefully. Derek’s voice was wobbly as he said, “she gave it to you. You should eat it.”

“Derek,” Stiles said kindly, “she brought it for you. I promise it’s alright. Just eat it. Or save it. Or eat some and save the rest.”

“Why would she do that?”

Stiles smiled. “I have no idea, but don’t argue with it if there isn’t anything wrong with it.”

“Nothing,” Derek agreed. “But Cameron is a hunter. Why would—I don’t understand.”

“Must be feeling guilty. Go on, you deserve it.”

Derek stared down at it. “Split it with me then.”

“Derek seriously, just keep it. I don’t need it.”

“Please,” Derek urged. “At least some of it. Please? I don’t have anything else to share.”

“You don’t have to share anything with me, Derek!”

“Stiles, please.”

Stiles wanted to ring the man’s neck. He sighed, shaking his head instead. “A row then. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek agreed, separating the bar between the two wraps of paper around it. He set broken pieces of chocolate on the outer paper and the rest of the bar on the foil from the inside. Derek carefully slid the paper back to Stiles.

Stiles frowned when he noticed it was several pieces of chocolate more than one row, but didn’t argue at the compromise.

He listened carefully as Derek picked up a piece of the chocolate. He brought it to his lips with purposeful slowness, almost like he was scared. He bit down. He let out a sob.

“Good?” Stiles asked, taking a bite of his own piece.

“Yeah,” Derek answered in a soft whimper.

Stiles smiled happily until he heard a quiet sniffle. “Derek?”

“I—” Derek shook himself all over, pushing the chocolate in the tin away from him with an almost reverence. “Sorry. Still getting over the full moon and Cameron…”

“Brought chocolate,” Stiles finished for him with a raised eyebrow.

“Cameron said that you’re leaving tomorrow,” Derek corrected.

Stiles froze, looking over at Derek as the man brought up the elephant in the room that Stiles just assumed that they were both just going to ignore.

“She did,” Stiles agreed.

“It’ll be weird in there without you again,” Derek said like he was telling Stiles a secret. “Too quiet.”

Stiles looked down at a chunk of the chocolate. “Maybe I can sneak down and try to visit you from time to time.”

Derek snorted but then a big breath let out quickly. “I’m—just, if Kate makes you come down here or anyone does and…and they make you hurt me. I just want you to know I won’t be blaming you. So don’t beat yourself up about it. I know you won’t be able to help it.”

Stiles gripped the leg of his jeans tightly in his hands. “I won’t let anyone use me to hurt you.”

Derek smiled sadly. “You can’t make that promise.”

“Did my fire hurt you?” Stiles questioned with a quick snap. “Did it?”

Derek paused a moment. “No.”

“I won’t,” Stiles said and he fought back tears, angry and sad and scared. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t let them make me. No one can make me hurt you. And—Jesus, I will get you out of here.”

“Stiles…”

“Get you outta here or die trying,” Stiles said then.  

Derek whined. “Don’t say that.”

“Eat your chocolate,” Stiles said harshly, frowning at the bars of his cell.

They napped then, both tired from the two nights previous still. They’d wake and chat for a bit until one of them fell asleep again. Time went by quickly though.

“I should give you your hoodie back,” Derek said softly, like a realization. He still had it from the full moon.

Stiles’ head snapped over. “No, you keep it.”

“Stiles I don’t know when I could get it back to you, if ever,” Derek said.

Stiles shrugged, gripping at his shoulders where the missing hoodie usually rested. “You need it more than I do. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stiles…”

“I said it was okay.”

Derek wanted to be selfish and keep it. It was warm and soft and smelt entirely like Stiles. The cells were cold and without comfort. Even outside of the full moon it was hard to live there. Stiles made it better—easier to the point that Derek almost didn’t mind where he was because the man across from him made him laugh. But this hoodie… “It was your mom’s. I can understand wanting to keep it.”

Derek made an aborted movement to take it off.

“Don’t you dare. You need it more than I do. Besides,” Stiles said, and then his face pulled into a grin, “When we get out of here I’ll take it back.”

Derek gripped the hoodie tighter, taking in a deep inhale of _Stiles_. “You might never get it back, Stiles.”

Stiles was silent for a long moment before he gave a deep smile. “Derek, I trust you to take care of it. My gift to you.”

Derek snarled then, pounding his fist at the solid wall behind him once. “It’s really selfish…but I don’t want you to go up there. I know things will be better for you up there but…”

“You’ll miss me,” Stiles finished. Derek expected a teasing jab but it didn’t come. Instead Stiles sat crossed legged and sighed. “I’m going to miss you, too. It’ll be okay though. I promise.”

 _Promise_. Derek wanted to rip the bars of their cells apart.

 

 

* * *

 

Jennifer’s arrival was much more subtle than Kate’s. She came down the steps with a casual tempo, her hands outreached before her with light at her fingertips. She lit up the entire basement with little effort, her eyes fluttering over to Stiles.

“Hey,” she said with a kind smile. “It’s time to get you out of here.”

“Sorry, I can’t leave without Derek,” Stiles said in reply.

Jennifer raised an amused eyebrow, looking over to where Derek had all but plastered himself to the wall of his cell.

“Ahh, my apologizes Stiles, but it’s a _were-_ free offer, I’m afraid,” she said brightly.

Stiles scrunched his face up in disgust. “I’d like to decline the offer then.”

Jennifer moved her hand then and the door to Stiles’ cell clicked unlocked. It swung open slowly as she stared at it and then grinned in satisfaction. “You’re right. I worded it wrong. You’re coming with me, Stiles. It isn’t a suggestion.”

Stiles stared her down for a moment and then looked at Derek. He smiled at the werewolf slightly before squaring his shoulders and stepping out of his cell. “Where are you taking me?”

Jennifer nodded her head towards the stairs. “Come see.”

Stiles wanted to make her drag him out of there. He wanted to put up a fight. He didn’t want Derek to be alone. But he knew it was best for him to be up there so he nodded slowly and stepped out of his cell.

He looked at Derek, where a pair of blue eyes gazed at him, and smiled calmly. “You’re going to be okay, Derek.”

Stiles let Jennifer lead him up the steps, annoyed at the amused look across her face. “There are four other magic users at this base. You’ll be sharing a building with them. I think you’ll be very happy there.” She gave him a twisted smile. “Anything beats the cell, right?”

Stiles didn’t answer. He crossed his arms over his chest as he walked.

She chuckled at him. “Everyone always starts off like I’m some horrible bad guy. But I mean it, Stiles. Kate has us keep magic users in the cells at first so that they understand that we don’t have to give them good accommodations. You know the law, magic users have to register for the cause. You broke the law so here you are. But we’re willing to help you be happy here.”

Stiles gave her an incredulous look. “I’m supposed to be grateful that you don’t treat magic users as awful as you _could_? Jesus, lady. You’re as fucking crazy as Kate Argent.”

Stiles braced for anger, for a strike or at least for yelling. But Jennifer Blake merely shrugged with a smirk. “You’ll understand with time, Stiles. I know you will. You’re smart.”

“Smart enough to know better.”

Jennifer led him along the yard of the base. Hunters were all about. They scurried about with busy minds. It was a bit disconcerting to be surrounded by people loaded with weapons and watching him distrustfully.

Stiles was brought to a large building and brought down a long hallway. Jennifer showed him to his room, a small square room with a bed and a side table as well as a dresser.

“We don’t have tv here,” she explained. “But there is a library run once a week so you can return and check out books if you ask for them. In the top drawer there are some snacks. You can also request various things for that too. You’d have to talk to Michael. He does grocery runs for magic users.”

Stiles nodded, surveying the space around him. “Okay, so I hang out here. I assume I’m not really supposed to leave this room.”

Jennifer shrugged. “Not really. I mean, most magic users walk around this base quite freely. But you’re on probation right now. Also, you’re powerful which means that Kate figures you can help out a lot.”

There was a knock on the door and both Stiles and Jennifer turned to see who it was.

“Jennifer,” said a curt voice. “I didn’t realize the new mage was moving in today.” The speaker was an old woman with a round stomach and deep wrinkles.

Jennifer’s smile went crooked and hard. “Liz! Yeah, I know its late notice. But I was hoping you could take care of getting him comfortable.”

Liz stepped forward, brushing her hands down on the pair of jeans she wore. She stuck out a hand towards Stiles. “Hey, kid. I’m Elizabeth Thatcher.”

Stiles uncurled his fist and sighed, taking the hand hesitantly. “Stiles.”

She raised an eyebrow at that and then sniffed, looking back at Jennifer. “Did you need anything else?”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed but she pursed her lips. She surveyed the room for a moment and then smiled. “No, I ought to be going. Important things to be doing.”

“Yeah,” Liz agreed with a grin that didn’t meet her eyes.

Stiles decided he rather liked her.

Jennifer left then, not at all impressed by Liz.

 Liz’s eyes shifted to him and softened. “Welcome. I’m sure you’re going to love it here.” Her voice was flat and her eyes rolled.

Stiles found out very quickly that he did not, in fact, love it there.

Stiles was fed three meals a day. They brought him food to his room and he had snacks. He spent most of his time reading. But he worried about everyone constantly. The entire time he’d been in captivity all he could think about was his father and Scott and Lydia. And now…now he worried about Derek too.

A week went by and Stiles was allowed to leave his room to travel to the mess hall unescorted. Still, he was watched as he made his way across the yard. A step towards anything he wasn’t supposed to be and he was instantly surrounded by stares.

Liz, Stiles quickly learned, was the oldest magic user on the base. She moved about as she pleased. She was not, as it turned out, the biggest fan of werewolves. Elizabeth Thatcher thought they were horrible monsters. Still, she hated the hunters that much more. There was no one that Liz hated more than Jennifer though.

“A disgrace,” she said as she delivered a box of books to Stiles. “That woman is the worst kind of person. She acts more like Kate’s dog than any werewolf ever did.”

Stiles took the box, sighing. “How long have you been here?”

Liz shrugged, pushing back strands of gray hair from her face. “I don’t know. A long time. Too long.”

Stiles nodded, looking through the books. He sifted through them, making a face. “No one around here has any taste.”

“Half of those were mine,” Liz said with a stern face.

Stiles sank down, frowning and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he said, shrinking down a bit. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m a bit of a book snob.”

She huffed, taking the box back from him. “If you don’t want them order some on Friday.”

Stiles flailed forward, grasping the box again to pick up a few of the books. “No! No, these are fine until then. Thank you.”

“Whatever. It’s best to stay outta everybody’s way today. Those idiots are all excited.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow as he turned to set the books on the night stand beside his bed. “Who, the hunters? What are they excited about?”

“Oh one of them caught an alpha last night.”

Stiles’ head snapped upward to look at Liz, his heart pounding. “An alpha?”

“Sure,” she said casually, rearranging the rest of the books within the box so that they wouldn’t rattle around as badly when she was carrying them. “They don’t find many of those anymore so it’s always a big circus when they do.”

Stiles licked his lips, nodding. “Sure—uh—did you see the alpha? Do you know what he looks like?”

Liz rolled her eyes again, resting the box on one of her hips. “You been listening to stupid hunter stories? Alpha werewolves do not look like monsters any more than the rest of the dumb mutts do. You leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Don’t go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Stiles coughed. “No, no I know. I just meant—did you see the werewolf?”

“Yeah. I watched them drag the boy in.”

“It was a boy? What did he look like? Tan? Did he have dark hair?”

Liz’s eyebrows lowered as she stared at Stiles with confusion and then suspicion. “You know an alpha werewolf?”

“What? No!...I mean, well I used to.”

Liz fumbled into the room then, shutting the door behind her quickly and rounding on Stiles. “Shut up. No more of that. I don’t want to know. You keep your mouth shut. You hear me? If those assholes think you might know where some werewolves are hiding—especially an alpha, they will string you up and take you apart.”

She was in Stiles’ space suddenly, leaning into him until the smell of soap hit his nose. Her eyes were wide and serious, her age so much more obvious in that instant.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed slowly, nodding for emphasis. “I shut up. Got it.”

She looked him over a moment, like she was searching for his sincerity before she left the room, stalking off at her usual fast pace.

Stiles sat down on the bed. He reached for one of the books and settled back against the headboard. His heart was still racing.

That night Stiles was woken in the middle of the night by a voice. “Stiles?”

Stiles jerked upward in his bed, eyes wide and staring around for the source. It only took a moment for his gaze to land on the pair of red eyes flashing through the dark. He could barely contain the shout of joy that threatened to break out of him.

Stiles relaxed, throwing his blankets back to scramble out of bed. “How the hell did you get out of their holdings so quickly?”

“It’s all just mountain ash,” came the answer. “I already slashed off that stupid collar they put on me.”

Stiles through his arms around his best friend, his eyes already beginning to water as relief was oozing from him. “You doing okay, Scotty?’

Scott McCall hugged him back tightly, burying his face in the neck of his best friend. “I’m fine,” he informed him. “How are _you_?”

Stiles tightened his hold a moment, laughing at the strangeness of it all. “I think I’m doing okay, thanks. I am reeeeally glad to see you though, dude.” He pulled back to look at Scott. "How's camp? Is my dad okay?"

Scott seemed adamant that they stay connected, refusing to back out of Stiles' space. "They're alright. Your dad is worried about you, but okay. I'm just glad to see you still in one piece."

Stiles dove in for another hug, unable to help himself. "Jesus, I missed you Scott." He pushed his hands into Scott's chest then, anxious to rid himself of the evil metal. “Now please get these stupid cuffs off me. I got a promise to keep.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to read! Comments are certainly welcome. I'd love for some more feedback! Best wishes!! XxOo


	3. A Phoenix is Born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the LOOONNNNGGG delay! I'm not usually that bad. 2 months is pretty bad though. I really appreciate your patience and kind words! I have to admit I'm a bit nervous about posting this because of several reasons but I do really hope you like it!!! I apologize if you don't and you were waiting...Also, sorry for any grammar/spelling errors.

Derek had never been so aware of the silence before. He’d spent years there, tucked in the darkness of a cell. It was only now, in the absence of Stiles, that Derek fully recognized the loss of everything. He wondered if he’d ever see that boy again. The idea of seeing him terrified Derek, honestly. Because the likelihood of Derek seeing him under circumstances that were not Kate using Stiles to hurt Derek…was basically nonexistent.

Derek curled up in the corner of his cell, resting the red hoodie beneath his head. He wrapped the sleeves around his neck so a tilt of his head would allow a strong inhale of Stiles. Of pack.  

_“You’re going to be okay, Derek.”_

The last thing Stiles had ever said to him was his name, letting his promise ring in Derek’s ears. Comfort. Hope. A silly, childish fantasy.

Derek’s hands wrapped around his neck, feeling the cold wood and metal of the collar that was locked around him and prevented a full shift. He thumbed along the grooves, absently thinking about his family. He tried very hard most days to put them far from his thoughts. Of his mother and father. Of Laura. Of Cora and Michael and Meghan and Peter. Of baby Toby.

A sharp claw puled at his fingertip and ran along the groove of the collar, dipping like it could slice through the material.

He took a deep breath of Stiles again, trying to rid himself of the phantom smell in his nose. Of ashes and burning flesh.

He twisted around to bring the hoodie forward. He bundled it up, wrapping both arms around it and pushing his nose deep into the fabric. And then, in his mind, it was Stiles in his arms. A warm body pressed tight against his own, sharing heat and offering comfort. If he just left his eyes shut he could imagine it. Imagine not being alone again.

He fell asleep breathing in Stiles’ scent and wondering if things were really better out there for him.

Time passed, Derek was sure of it. New bowls of food were brought, but the hunter never spoke a word. He was back to a routine that was implemented long before he knew Stiles. Yet Derek couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Stiles being gone.

It was only a week or so—maybe, but Derek felt as if it was both an eternity and no time at all. Some moments it felt like he was just waiting for Stiles to return from his outing with Cameron. Other moments it was as if Stiles had simply been a dream. The only evidence that Derek had that he wasn’t crazy was the warm, red fabric saturated in his scent.

Still, Derek did not wish him back. He couldn’t. Not even in his mind could he wish Stiles back to the cell. Back to the cold and the hunger and the darkness.

He hadn’t cared about someone in a very long time. Derek had grown cold, to hate the world. But here he was, wishing only the best for Stiles. Because if anyone in the world deserved happiness, it was that selfless idiot.

Cameron still came to deliver his bowl of food every day. She was silent, tense when she made her delivery, not quite allowing herself to look at Derek.

But after the third day, he couldn’t take it. She neared his cell, set the bowl down lightly on the ground and turned to leave.

“Cameron!” Derek blurted, stilling instantly in fear when he saw her pause mid-step. It was the first time Derek had spoken to a hunter other than Kate in many years.

Very slowly, she turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his at the bars of the cell. She didn’t say anything, just stared, her eyes intense and hard.

“Stiles. Is he—I mean, do you know if he’s alright?”

Her eyes softened even as she remained weary, taking a step back from him. “Stiles is adjusting just fine up there. He stays in his room most of the day and reads.”

Derek didn’t hear a skip in her heart. Honesty. More than he had expected. “Thank you,” he said softly, sinking carefully to the ground to take hold of the bowl at the edge of his cell.

Cameron screwed up her face in a grimace, but she nodded stiffly. Spinning on her heels, she made her way back up the steps.

 

* * *

 

 

Scott McCall had grown up on the run. He’d been moved from house to house. Motel to motel. The occasional tent. Sometimes a car. And even, on a few memorable occasions, bus stations. But for as long as he could really remember, _home_ was his mother, the Sheriff, and Stiles. They were his family. And Stiles? Stiles was his best friend, his partner in crime, and his brother.

Now Scott would say that he had a pretty good rein on his instincts. Deaton was always saying how important it was for Scott to be able to control the urges and power that came with his person. Being an Alpha came with a whole new set of instincts that he’d had to learn quickly to control. However, after three months of not seeing someone he’d spent most of his time with for the past 13 years, Scott’s instincts were clawing at him.

He could never know if Stiles was hurt or scared or in danger. He couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t see him. Couldn’t talk with him. It was downright painful the whole time, the constant worry.

So it was fairly understandable that the moment Scott could see that Stiles was unharmed, all he wanted to do was drag him away from danger and hold on tight.

Stiles mentioned the cuffs around his wrists and Scott’s blood boiled. Stiles’ scent was wrong. Sure, he smelled like Stiles but instead of an overwhelming scent of magic, it was a faint whiff that seemed more ordinary and less Stiles.

“God these must be killing you,” Scott commented, pulling at Stiles’ arms so they were extended out towards him.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, pulling one arm back to flip on the light beside his bed and then putting his arm back. “They suck. Just. Shit, just get them off me. Then we can talk.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed, smiling to himself. He glared down at the cuffs though, eyeing them. “I’m going to do them at the same time, alright?”

“Please,” Stiles nodded. He licked his lips in anticipation.

Scott released his claws, smirking at the way Stiles didn’t even flinch at their sudden appearance so close to his skin. God he missed this. The trust.

“On three,” Stiles told him and Scott nodded. “One…two…three!”

Scott raked his claws against the cuffs just hard enough to break through them, careful not to go deep enough to catch skin. One claw on the right dipped a little low, slicing slightly into Stiles’ arm, but it was shallow.

It didn’t matter a moment later anyway.

Stiles took in a deep breath, overwhelmed suddenly. Everything hit him full force. Stiles stretched his head upward and flexed his fingers, breathing in hard through his nose. The cut on his arm healed over with a soft glow. The air around them warmed slightly. The light of the lamp brightened. Stiles’ sleep shirt suddenly lost all wrinkles and his hair—tossed in every direction, flattened to a more reasonable height.

Magic, dormant beneath his skin kicked alive again and rushed through his body. It wrapped around Stiles, surging with power barely contained. The cuffs on the floor were disintegrated, as if his magic couldn’t bare them to exist at all.

Stiles was shaking from the intensity, and he wondered how he could have forgotten this feeling. The feeling of magic swirling and crashing through him. It was to regain a limb and to take in a new breath of air.

Scott took a step back and grinned. “Better?”

Stiles was breathing heavily, a grin plastered to his face. “Oh, yeah.” Stiles rolled his shoulders back, testing the feeling around his body.

Magic wrapped around Scott, straightening his clothes and pushing his hair back. The laces on his left shoe were untied and retied better.

Scott laughed and Stiles shook his arms out.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles whispered. “I missed you too, but don’t _mother_ us that badly.”

“Stop talking to your magic,” Scott said sternly but pulled Stiles in for another hug. “Jesus, man. Let’s never do this plan again. It was a stupid plan. Terrible. Never listening to you again. Everyone has been so worried about you.”

Tears welled up in Stiles eyes and he held on as tight as he could, taking a shaky breath. “I’m glad you’re here, Scott.”

Scott pulled back then to frown, looking about the room quickly. “Where…where’s your hoodie? They didn’t take it did they?” Scott’s frantic concern made Stiles’ smile grow. Scott knew how important that thing was to him.

“We’re going to go get it,” Stiles informed him, already heading towards the door, “right now.”

 

* * *

 

There were two heartbeats inside of the cell building, nearing the stairs. It wasn’t all that odd—at least not odd enough to get upset. Except that Derek had memorized one of those heartbeats. The slight signature of rapid beating that meant Stiles.

Derek flung himself forward, crashing into the bars of his cell as he pressed his face to the bars for a better look at the stairs, waiting. He knew enough to be able to tell that the other person was not Kate, nor was it Jennifer or even Cameron.

Someone new.

There was no telling sign of the door unlocking. No jingle of keys, no clicking of the lock. The door at the top of the steps opened loudly as it flung open with force. It made Derek jolt back.

“Derek?” Stiles hollered down the steps, his voice equally worried and excited.

“Stiles!” Derek couldn’t help but shout back. Every part of him demanded Derek find a way to Stiles. To wrap himself up around Stiles. To protect Stiles. To let Stiles protect him.

But the other heartbeat followed Stiles down the steps, a bit more hesitant. “This is him?”

Stiles came to a stop in front of Derek, beaming. “The rescue party has arrived!”

Derek startled, his eyes twitching towards the other man but not quite making the distance before his gaze was locked on Stiles. “Why are you here?” he asked Stiles with confusion.

“To bust you out,” the new man said. He stepped up next to Stiles at the cell, his eyes wide and kind. It made Derek’s stomach churn.

Derek frowned, finally meeting the eyes of the stranger. “Why would a hunter want to get me out?”

But it was Stiles who replied with a snort. “He’s not a hunter, Derek. I’d like you to meet my best friend, Scott. Scott, this is Derek Hale.”

Unable to stop himself, Derek flinched backwards, eyes wide and uncertain. Derek knew who Scott was. Stiles had told him story after story about the little werewolf he’d grown up with. A friendly, over-trusting soul with puppy eyes and an almost too-kind heart.

A pair of red eyes flashed at Derek and Derek’s own flashed blue in return even as his breath was stolen straight out of his lungs. “You’re an Alpha! What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get in here?” It was impossible to cross the boundary for any werewolf or magic user.

“This was the plan all along,” Scott explained kindly, looking at Derek’s face instead of the dirty, ratty clothes.

“The plan?” Derek repeated mindlessly.

“Once Stiles was in here I was to get captured and then get off my collar, find Stiles and break off his cuffs, and get camp in here.”

Derek felt his eyes widen, looking at Scott with incredulous disbelief. _Plan?_  Did that mean that Stiles had chosen to be here? “How’d you get your collar off? How’d you get out of the werewolf holdings? Everything’s made of mountain ash!”

“I can get through mountain ash. I can get your collar off, if you’d like. But we have to be quiet.”

Derek watched him uneasily, backing up a step.

“Derek, seriously,” Stiles said with a smile as he caught Derek’s gaze. “He can get your collar off.”

That was all it took. Derek was slamming himself into the bars again, baring his throat for Scott with a pleading look in his eyes. Derek’s instincts were flaring with the need to submit and please to Alpha as well as protect Stiles. A whimper escaped him, uncertainty humming in his rational, human mind, but the wolf was content to believe in the Alpha that had come to rescue him. His wolf trusted Scott simply because of Stiles.

And _fuck_ , he shouldn’t even be trusting Stiles at this point. Derek didn’t have any idea what was going on.

Scott didn’t waste any time, reaching through the bars to rake his claws down Derek’s neck. The collar gave way beneath sharp claws, clanging uselessly to the ground.

Instantly Derek’s fangs dropped and his face shifted. His claws extended and his eyes flashed blue. Derek seemed to fight with himself for a moment, closing his eyes and focusing on Stiles’ heart which had kept steady the whole time.

There was a moment of pause then, as Derek’s instincts hit him full force and his strength seemed to rumble through his body.

“Derek we don’t have time for this,” Stiles said firmly, making Derek’s eyes go back to him. “We have to break through the wards at the border. Lydia’s waiting for the signal to send the cavalry forward.”

Derek’s eyes opened and he gripped the mountain ash bars of his cell, leaning forward. “The Red Witch? She’s here?”

“Wha—” Scott questioned.

Stile thrust his hands forward. “Back up,” he warned to Derek who did as was directed of him. The sweet smell of magic hit the air in a strong pulse, whipping around Stiles and then the bars of the cell. The pressure of magic gripped the bars and they pried apart, cluttering fast and slamming together to part way for Derek.

Derek didn’t understand what was happening. He could get out of the cell now. With hesitant and slow steps, Derek moved forward. His footsteps brought him towards Stiles and out from the holdings.

“How is any of this possible?” Derek asked in a quiet voice.

“Do you trust me?” Stiles asked but the smile on his face and the soft look in his eyes told Derek that the boy already knew they answer to that.

They stood there a moment, just staring at one another before they both wrapped themselves up in the other’s arms. The perfect smell of Stiles filled Derek’s senses as he collapsed to bury himself into Stiles’ neck.

“Yes I trust you,” Derek muttered. They tightened their grips, Derek trying so hard not to shake in Stiles arms. “Even though I shouldn’t. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you got captured on purpose? What is happening?”

Stiles pulled back to give Derek a big smile. “I can explain it all later. For now, I need my hoodie back. The Hunters aren’t going to let Lydia and everyone just walk in. There’s a fight coming.”

Derek blinked a few times and then quickly unzipped the hoodie around him, handing it to Stiles.

“Hey,” Scott said then, making Derek jump. He nearly forgot about the other man. “This doesn’t have to be your fight. If you want to wait it out we understand.”

Derek looked back at the cell he’d just stepped out of and then looked back at Scott. “If the Red Witch is coming we might actually have a chance. That’s something worth fighting for. If we can end this.”

“Yeah, about that,” Stiles said and then zipped his hoodie on, looking more like Stiles than he had previously. He looked so wrong without that hoodie around his torso. “There’s something else I didn’t tell you. Lydia isn’t the Red Witch.” Stiles faced him then, hands buried in his pocket and a light smile on his face as he stared back at Derek. He looked almost sheepish. “I am.”

Derek’s eyes flared blue as he stared at Stiles. No skip in a heartbeat.

“Shit,” Derek breathed, but turned to Scott. “What’s the plan?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a dripping sound, continuous and unyielding like a leaky faucet. It was loud in Lydia’s ears _drip…drip…drip_. She’d been hearing it for days, getting louder as the moments passed. _Drip…drip…drip._

“Anything yet?” Lydia asked for probably the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” Isaac and Liam both replied together in exasperated voices.

“If we see anything,” Liam continued, “you’ll be the first to know.”

_Drip…drip…drip…_

They were crouched in the woods, hidden in the forest as they watched the Hunter’s base. It was heavily guarded and practically impenetrable. The boundary was a thick line of mountain ash and tall, magic emitters.  No werewolf or magic user had a prayer of getting through. Not from the outside anyways.

Lydia shut her eyes, worry swirling in her stomach. It had been months since she last saw Stiles. The entire time had been painful, waiting for the right time. And then Scott had gone in. Now she and several members of the camp could only sit and wait for the signal.

_Drip…drip…drip…_

A quick glance to her side where John Stilinski sat told her that she wasn’t the only anxious one. His firearm rested in his lap, his thumb brushing along it absentmindedly. She knew he had been a Sheriff before he’d taken Stiles on the run.

Lydia Martin was eleven years old when John Stilinski and Melissa McCall joined up with her camp. They came with two boys about her age who, like most of the camp, were desperately trying to stay away from hunters.

Instantly, Lydia had hated both of the boys. They were problematic. Scott McCall was a bother because he was a beta. This meant he would need an Alpha, or he would go crazy. He was able to control his instincts, making sure everyone knew he didn’t need an Alpha. But Lydia knew better. Eventually, Scott McCall would go crazy and try to kill them all.

Stiles Stilinski was a problem because he was a magic user. Deaton helped out most of the magic users in the camp. There were only four of them and they were all of lower levels. But when Stiles showed up he took a lot of time from Deaton. No one understood how Stiles’ magic worked. The boy could spend all day staring at a feather, trying so hard to get it to move, and fail. But then, when Stiles wasn’t paying attention, things he was looking for but couldn’t find would go whizzing through the air and right into his hands.

Lydia particularly hated Stiles because he spent as much time with Deaton as she did and he didn’t deserve it. He kept trying to be Lydia’s friend but she just couldn’t stand him. She was so mad. Why did this stupid kid get magic? He could do extraordinary things while she was…Lydia wasn’t supposed to say what she was out loud. Deaton told her not to.

Lydia could not do cool tricks. She didn’t have super strength or hearing. She could not make objects float in the air. Lydia was more of a freak than the freaks. Lydia heard whispers from dead people. Lydia knew when the camp needed to move because hunters would be coming. She always saw red blood on the ground days before they would come. Lydia always knew when someone had died during a mission out of camp. She’d scream and scream and scream until someone came back to say that someone hadn’t made it.

Deaton said it was a gift. Lydia wished he was dead every time he said that. And then she quickly took it back because she didn’t know how her powers worked, but she didn’t want to be alone.

_“I know why you scream sometimes before someone dies,” Stiles informed her one day. “You’re a banshee.”_

_Lydia was so mad and scared because he figured it out. Because if Stiles knew than Scott knew and if Scott knew than it wouldn’t be long before everyone knew._

_“So what?” she demanded. “Are you going to stop trying to talk to me now? Do I scare you now?”_

_Stiles screwed up his face, his eyebrows furrowing down as he looked at her with sad eyes. “No. Do I scare you? Is that why you don’t talk to me?”_

_Lydia lifted her face up haughtily, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why would I be afraid of you?”_

_Stiles looked around like he thought someone else might have been trying to spy on them. “Because I can’t always control my magic. Deaton says it’s because my magic is special. That I’ve got a gift.”_

_“That’s stupid,” Lydia informed him. She lowered her head a bit, watching him as his face crumped up a bit in sadness. “Do you know where you register?”_

_Stiles eyes met hers and he sank down until he was sitting, just looking up at her until she sat down beside him. “Deaton says my magic is a ten.”_

_“You can’t be a ten,” Lydia rolled her eyes. Boys could be so stupid._

_Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what Deaton said. I’m not supposed to tell anyone besides my dad…and Scott of course. Because it’s dangerous. My dad says that maybe it’s hard to control that much magic. That I have to be careful or my magic might control me. And if Hunters found out they’d want to get me.”_

_Lydia considered that for a moment before she bit her lip. “I guess if you need extra help from Deaton I don’t mind if you’re there at the same time I am sometimes.”_

_Stiles grinned at her, pulling his too-big hoodie tighter around him. “Thanks.”_

_“That doesn’t make us friends,” Lydia said quickly, in case he was getting any ideas about her._

_Stiles sobered up quickly, nodding seriously. “Of course not. But I would…like to be your friend, I mean.”_

_She looked away from him, frowning at the sidewalk they were sitting on. “I’ll be your friend if you promise me something.”_

_Stiles looked very hopeful and nodded eagerly._

_“Promise that I’ll never ever have to scream because of you.”_

_Stiles blinked over at her and then smiled softly. He stuck a hand out to her, small and pale. “Promise.” He waited patiently._

_Lydia shook his hand after a moment, wondering why she’d let him make a promise he couldn’t hope to keep._

But time passed and Scott, Stiles, and Lydia grew very close. Stiles worked on using his magic, and Lydia learned all sorts of things. She honed her skills, vowing that if she was going to be a Banshee then she would just have to be the best kind of Banshee.

Of course, by the time they were sixteen Scott McCall reached his limit. He couldn’t handle not having an Alpha anymore. Still, even Lydia couldn’t have predicted the shift in his eye color. Deaton called him a True Alpha.

Stiles snorted and asked if that made all the other Alphas “false alphas.” But Scott didn’t laugh that time. Like Stiles and Lydia, Scott was now a freak of the freaks. An even bigger reason to stay hidden from hunters. The mage so powerful his magic ran wild, the banshee who saw death, and the true alpha.

The three of them worked hard, keeping to themselves and trying to protect their camp. Hunters ambushed them a few times, nearly managed to capture Scott and a couple of the magic users. But they never managed to harm anyone. Lydia never had to scream. Not once. She, Scott, and Stiles worked like a well-oiled machine. They had plans and strategies and abilities that they used to make sure no one got hurt.

Stiles seemed to grow into his powers. He stopped trying to control his magic and just tried to direct them. They took care of him. His magic was not something to be trifled with. Every day that passed, Stiles seemed only to get stronger. And as their powers and understandings grew, so did their need to fix the world.

Lydia wanted comfort. She wanted to go to movies and work and the mall just like the rest of the world without fearing capture. She dreamt of the war ending and reclaiming the life she was due. Stiles wanted revenge. Stiles wanted to give hunters a taste of their own medicine, to stop them in their tracks and show them what true power was. Scott wanted to save people. Scott was the compassionate one of them. He saw pain in the world and only wanted it to end. Scott sought justice and peace.

There was a reason that Lydia and Stiles used Scott as their moral compass. A reason why Scott called the shots on the battlefield. So the three of them and their camp became more than just people who were surviving.

That is, of course, when the stories started. They talked of the Red Witch. Of a boy in a red hoodie who could control the skies and ripped trees from the ground. And they spoke of an alpha who’s strength, speed and abilities far exceeded others. And they spoke of a girl, so beautiful with a voice that could stop a heart. That could see death coming even before the bullet was loaded into the gun.

Sometimes the stories were embellished and wrong. Sometimes people said that the Red Witch was a woman with red hair like blood. Sometimes people said that the banshee was a Siren that lured and devoured. Sometimes people said that the Alpha was really a wolf that sometimes became a man. That he devoured his enemy in a single swallow. Most of the time, no one even spoke about Scott or Lydia at all. They didn’t mind. Not really.

Dragging her thoughts back to the situation at hand, Lydia leaned against the truck of a tree and looked up. There was a figure in the branches, steadily seated with a crossbow in hand, watching with careful eyes through the darkness. The soft light of the moon caught the shiny, red tip of her arrow.

_Drip…drip…drip…_

Lydia tried to ignore the haunting sound in her head.

As if some sixth sense told her she was being watched, Allison Argent looked down to meet Lydia’s gaze. It was almost creepy how she could do that. If Lydia didn’t know for a fact that Allison was fully human, she’d have assumed that she was as supernatural creature of sorts.

The two of them shared a soft, reassuring smile before turning away. In the four years that Lydia had known Allison, they’d become best friends. It was a fairly simple operation until they met the Argents. Chris and Allison Argent had been searching the country for the rumored Red Witch. They pleaded with the camp to let them to stay, to help.

They used the hunter’s knowledge to be even better at what they were doing. They took down patrols, they saved various people. They even managed to starve out a base on the coast. But then Allison was telling them of her Grandfathers’ biggest werewolf base in California. The Argent Base.

It’d been Stiles idea to take it on. It was his plan to be captured to get inside in the first place.

Oh how people tried to talk him out of it. Until they listened to the plan. Until they heard Stiles seriousness. Until they watched the way Allison and Stiles leaned over maps and demanded justice. No one could strategize quite like Allison, Chris, Stiles and John. When the four of them formed a plan it was usually the best thing anyone could muster.

But the worst thing was the nightmares Lydia still had about that night Deaton had to take Stiles’ magic.

_John Stilinski and Scott had been the ones to hold Stiles down that night when Deaton came with a terrifying rod that sucked out Stiles’ magic. It pulled at it, making Stiles scream and curl into himself. He cried and cried but demanded they keep going. He squeezed Lydia’s hand, limbs shaking where he strained._

_It seemed like years had passed before Deaton took the metal away, his own eyes watery as he watched Stiles coughing and trying to breathe. “I took a lot,” Deaton admitted, pale and sick looking._

_Even worse looking, was Stiles. “Do you—do you need more?” he asked, his face streaked with tears and his lips bloody from where he’d bitten nearly through it._

_Lydia had never seen Deaton so close to tears before._

Chris helped Stiles get set up so that he’d get taken in. Through a gun scope, Chris watched Stiles get captured by hunters.

That night, Allison’s face went hard with anger after having to watch Stiles in pain and now having to worry that he’d even survive. She took each arrow and made the tips of them red, tying a red bandanna into her hair and barely eating and sleeping because she was out target practicing so much.

They’d had to let Scott get captured blind. They couldn’t know what state Stiles was in. Scott went into the camp having no idea what he would find when he got there. They could only wait.

The boys were meant to get to the boarder, heavily guarded. While Scott broke through the barrier and opened the gate, Stiles was to hold off the hunters. They had no way of knowing if it would be overwhelming for the two boys to do on their own.

Lydia fixed her eyes on forward until her eyes widened. A single red flare shot up through the sky like a firework.

“There’s the signal,” Chris said unnecessarily, making to race forward.

_Drip…drip…drip…_

 

* * *

  

Derek looked around the corner to stare at the barrier wall. It was made of sharp wires and rowan. The Runes at each pillar that stood every hundred feet made sure that no magic user could pass through the barrier without permission—the reason why mages could be brought in while their magic was pulled with little bother.

Derek’s eyes scanned through the dark, counting heads with his eyes and heartbeats with his ears. He pulled back to look at Scott and Stiles who were both pulling away at the same time to face each other.

“How many?” Stiles asked.

“About thirty,” Scott said as Derek answered, “thirty four.”

Stiles lips twitched upwards for a moment before he frowned. “After the alarm sounds the barrier will be crawling with hunters. There’s upwards of six hundred here. Skilled and experienced.”

“We just need to get the barrier open. After that, we’ve got our own skilled and experienced,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” Derek said as he shook his head, “But how long will it take you to get through the barrier? You’re the only one of us that can actually get through it. You’ll have to take down a pillar and at least a small section of the wall before anyone is going to be able to help you.”

Scott’s face twisted up into a grimace. “It might take me a bit. How much time do you think you can buy?”

Stiles bit his lip, his fingers twitching as he racked his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, between the two of us…Derek and I can probably buy you ten minutes by ourselves before we’re too overwhelmed.”

“Shit.”

“I thought you were meant to be all powerful,” Derek demanded. It was harsher than he had intended it to be but he still couldn’t quite look Stiles in the eyes.

Stiles frowned at him though he seemed a bit sad. “I have a lot of power, doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want with it. My magic is a bit more…complicated than others.” Stiles pulled his hoodie tighter around himself out of habit. “I mean, my magic could probably take out the whole barrier, but I can’t guarantee it would be safe. I don’t always know how my magic will do something or what consequences will come from it. We want to do this, we have to do it very carefully.”

Stiles then ducked his head, looking a little embarrassed. "Also, I don't feel the best even after I've got the cuffs off. I'll probably take a few days before I'm at full strength again. My magic is...agitated right now."

Derek breathed in softly through his nose and then turned to Scott. “Well, I’m not backing out. You guys say we have a real shot at this, I’m willing to try.”

Scott nodded sharply. “Okay. Prepare yourselves then. We go forward on my mark. Try for some stealth.” He looked pointedly at Stiles.

Stiles made a face at Scott, huffing slightly. He bit his lip then, looking at Derek.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I just,” Stiles looked away quickly and then looked back at him. “I’m glad I met you, that’s all.” And then he darted forward to press his lips to Derek.

Derek jerked back in surprise, but the moment their lips touched he froze. A second passed and then Derek pressed forward, grabbing hold of Stiles and kissing back softly. Stiles lips were soft where Derek's were rough and broken. But Derek held him tightly, pressing close and biting back a whimper.

He let Stiles go when the man pulled away, flashing the werewolf a shy grin as he crept towards the barrier. Even in the dark he could see the faint blush on Stiles' cheeks. He felt his own face burning a bit when Scott gave him a look and then shook his head.

Scott and Derek both sank low and shifted, exchanging a look before Scott nodded. The three of them darted from their hiding spot, Scott and Derek taking to shrink into the shadows and they crept forward at a fast pace.

Stiles choose to keep a straight path, moving slower than the other two but not making any obvious attempt to hide. Still, no eyes seemed to find him. At his feet was a strange green light keeping pace with his footsteps. Derek could smell the magic as it hit the air. Even as Stiles neared the boarder, none of the hunters looked at him.

Derek watched Stiles come to a halt to stand in the middle of a group of hunters. His head dipped downward so that even the edge of his nose was hidden in the dark and by his hood. It was the most still that Derek had ever seen Stiles.

Uncertain, Derek’s eyes drifted to Scott who met his gaze with red eyes through the dark. Though Derek’s instincts were probably to blame, the flashing eyes of the alpha calmed him. Derek’s wolf had begun to think of Stiles as his, his pack. So if this was Stiles’ alpha…then wasn’t Scott his too? Very slowly, the boy’s head nodded. The shot of doubt that had crept into Derek dissipated. He had no idea what he was doing. But Stiles was standing alone, surrounded by the enemy. His pack was in danger. So when Scott leapt forward, so also did Derek.

When Derek and Scott came into view the hunters scrambled. Hollers and shouts filled the air before either of the werewolves were even close enough to attack. Guns and bows came up to aim. Shots were fired.

Stiles’ head came up and his hood fell backwards. His hands shot up on either side of him as heads snapped around in surprise to sudden realization of his presence.

One of the hunters let out a shout but then Stiles brought his hands down. “Sleep,” he commanded. The five hunters around him seemed just to collapse. Their knees gave way beneath them and they stuttered to the ground like knocked over pins.

Derek reached the party, his claws coming out to play as a hunter with a knife in each hand came towards him. Despite being cut off from his power and wolf for so long, it was still as easy as breathing for Derek to swoop low and feint. He racked his claws towards the hunter’s chest and missed by mere inches as the man hobbled backwards.

“Scott, go!” Stiles called, moving as fast as he seemed to be able. Unlike Scott and Derek who were pushing themselves to exert as much force as possible, Stiles seemed to be doing the opposite. A quick glance in Stiles’ direction sucked the air out of Derek.

Stiles was taking great care in his aim and power. Each time magic shot out from Stiles it seemed to have a different outcome. One hunter hit the ground with a howl of pain, his face breaking out in red bumps and swelling. Another hunter began laughing hysterically as Stiles passed her, tapping her shoulder as he went.

Derek had to make himself look away, busy dodging arrows that whizzed past his head with a strong smell of wolfsbane.

The alarm sounded.

Scott used the opening Derek and Stiles had created to race to the wall of the barrier. He stopped beside one of the pillars and let his claws free. His heart pounded and it was all he could hear, drowning out of the sound of fighting behind him. He had to trust that Stiles would watch his back.

He could hear Stiles directly behind him, careful to let Scott get to work on the wall.

Scott looked closely at the markings that were engraved deep into the wood. They twisted and deepened in some areas and got shallow and sharp in others. No magic user could pass through the barrier, the magic powerful and ingrained into the construction of the wall.

Scott took a deep breath. There was a big opening of the wall between two pillars. It was big and open, save bits of wire and wood that stretched across the top. It looked easy enough to get through. But pressing a hand up to the open space, Scott met resistance. The rowan of the barrier wouldn’t let any werewolves pass through. Sure, Scott could get through it. But other werewolves would be stuck on their current side with the barrier still up.

Scott tried to remember clearly what he, Deaton and Lydia had been going over very carefully since Stiles had let himself get captured. If he wanted to be able to take down a section of the wall, he’d have to do it correctly.

Searching down the wall, Scott stared at the markings. He had to find the right ones in the right order. He shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself. His instincts were all over the place, demanding he take care of Stiles. It was hard, burying the instincts and focusing. He wanted to just start ripping at the wall in aggravation.

This sort of thing, remembering the important details. The knowledge, magic, intelligent stuff…that was Lydia and Stiles’ area. He wasn’t made for this crap.

“Funny fish looking thing,” he muttered to himself, searching quickly and swiping down it as he found the engraving.

“Watch it!” Derek shouted suddenly and then a hunter was tossed in the air and away from Scott.

Scott turned around briefly to see Derek’s worried face, glaring as if to dare anyone to step towards Scott again. “Sorry,” Derek muttered like it was his fault people were trying to kill them. He noticed Scott staring and gestured at the wall. “Keep going!”

“Right,” Scott nodded and turned back.

Stiles had never felt such a rush in his life. Magic seemed to be pouring out his seams. He had to get creative, expending mass amounts of power but keeping it contained. He was so sure that he could just knock every hunter off their ass, but he didn’t know that he could control his magic and manipulate it to not harm Derek or Scott. So Stiles focused on direction.

Derek fought the way he did everything else: with a gruffness and effectiveness that made Stiles shiver. With the collar off, Derek had shifted into beta form, his movements graceful and fast. Stiles had never looked at a shifted werewolf and thought _wow, beautiful_ before. Awe, and amazement sure. 

More often than not, Derek and Stiles played tag team to keep hunters a safe distance from Scott as he worked. But reinforcements began showing up and it was harder and harder to dodge everything. Stiles ended up with a few close encounters.

The hunters brought out their anti-magic equipment. Shields and batons had properties that charged through them which prevented magic. The weapons were usually used to capture unregistered magic users that the hunters wanted to capture and use.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” someone hissed at Stiles, knocking into him with a shield.

Stiles felt air leave his lungs as the anti-magic force collided with him. It seemed to anger his magic because it pushed back, sending the guy soaring as if thrown.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Stiles hissed loud enough for those in his vicinity to hear him. There were a lot. They kept growing in numbers, like a hydra or something. Cut off one head and what not. Derek looked like he was slowing down, too. They couldn’t hold them off forever.

Derek seemed to realize this too. He shouted at Scott over his shoulder. “You gotta hurry, kid! We’re running out of time!”

Stiles took offense to the _kid_. Scott and he were the same age and if Derek thought of him as a kid—It really wasn’t the time or place for these thoughts though.

 “Yeah,” Scott agreed and took another swipe and the wall, burying his claw deep into the wood. He tipped back his head then and let out a howl, an alpha calling in victory.

Derek looked in time to see the pillars on either side of Scott crumble downward. One by one the pillars along the rest of the barrier stopped glowing and began to tumble down, cracking into little pieces as they fell. It was like they were disintegrating, catching in the wind and trembling apart.

He looked at Stiles then, catching his eye as the boy paused to see the fall of the barrier himself. Stiles was breathing heavily, a crooked, smug smile on his face as he watched. Derek couldn’t help but stare a moment at Stiles outstretched hands lifted upwards and red sparks shot up from his fingertips, bursting into the sky like fireworks. He wasn’t even looking at Derek but still Derek felt as if he were hypnotized by the power he saw.

“Derek!” Scott yelled then and Derek jerked around just in time to see an arrow shooting straight towards him. And God, time slowed. He could smell the wolfsbane in the air as it neared him, too fast to dodge or catch. He tensed, waiting for impact.

It never came.

Flames licked up from around Derek, forming a familiar ring around him. Instead of a crackling sound with the smell of fire, the circle seemed to dance and twist around him soothingly. It smelled like it had in the cell. Like Stiles. The fire caught the arrow mid-air, just inches from Derek’s chest. With a dry mouth, Derek could only watch as the weapon caught fire, crumbling down into ashes before the little dust dropped to the ground at Derek’s feet. Derek’s eyes met the gaze of an archer a few yards away, bow still held high. They faltered, looking as shocked as Derek felt.

At first, Derek tensed, but the sudden and inevitable dread he knew was coming—never did. For the first time in years, Derek didn’t recoil at the appearance of fire. He knew this fire. He did not fear it. He had craved it’s presence since it had last left him.

_My fire isn’t a cage. You hear me Derek? My fire is a shield. It’s a shield. No one can hurt as long as you’re in my fire._

The fire ring burning around Derek stayed a moment longer, as if confirming the absence of direct danger at the moment. Derek’s heart was pounding as he tried to stow away his fear. He reached a hand out towards the flames, trembling the whole way as he darted his fingertips into the fire.

And then the fire dropped, leaving Derek’s fingers and dissipating without a trace. The heat just sank away.

Derek hadn’t realized he’d begun shaking until his eyes landed on his outstretched hand. Everyone seemed to have stilled and silenced for a moment, awe and confusion bubbling into the air around him. No one’s more potent than Derek’s.

His eyes strayed to Stiles, but his eyes were filled with a wonder and utter shock that was mirrored all around. He caught Derek’s eye and shrugged. “I have no idea.”

And then there was a howl, a single howl of a beta. It was joined by more, the sounds crashing into each other until they seemed to mold into one piercing cry.

Scott howled back in return, breathing heavily and still staring at Derek even as he called back to his betas.

Everyone seemed to be frozen still. Guns and arrows still aimed and ready. Fighting stances still low and ready. Watchful eyes piercing. But it seemed that everyone was holding their breath.

There was no stopping this now. Scott and Stiles’ people were here. And the hunters wanted to know what they were up against. Needed to know.

It was hardly thirty seconds before the first person reached the barrier. A curly haired blond with big eyes. He was quickly followed by a younger boy with darker hair and a slight fear written across his face. 

“Isaac! Liam!” Scott shouted, running to them for a moment before rounding back on the hunters.

Two men crashed through the opening next, both holding guns. One was looking around frantically, his eyes wide and worried with the smell of anxiety pouring off of him. When his eyes hit Stiles, Derek knew exactly who that man was. John Stilinski looked at Stiles as if the whole world could rot, if only that boy could be okay.

Derek knew the feeling.

The two men were directly followed by two women. A dark haired girl with a bow. And a red head that Derek could put a name to instantly. Lydia Martin.

A large group wasn’t far behind, making their way forward. There was thirty or forty of them, armed and nervous. A few, Derek could recognize from stories Stiles had told with such detail. Kira, Malia, Deaton. He couldn’t be sure but he thought one of them was Danny. But all came with weapons and determination.

“Dad!” Stiles shouted. He darted past Derek to grab hold of the older man, gripping him tightly by the shoulders.

The hunters were watching it all happen, their uncertainty was evident even as their weapons were still poised at the ready. They hadn’t attacked the group yet, just seemingly caught in some sort off spell.

 “You look like you’ve got a bit of a mess,” the man beside John said, looking past them.

“Chris,” Stiles said with a seriousness that didn’t meet his eyes, “thanks for joining the party. Your sister is even crazier than you said.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow, wondering what the hell Stiles was talking about. And then—

“Well that’s not very nice,” Kate said loudly, stepping forward as she made her way through the hunters. She pushed her way through, shoulders knocking into people as she maneuvered her way to the front of them. “Honestly, Christopher. You don’t call. You don’t write…”

_Chris Argent._

“You know, I think Dad’s words were, ‘if you leave don’t ever come back.’ Didn’t sound like he wanted a postcard.”

Kate pouted for a moment before it cracked beneath her smirk. Her eyes swept over Stiles and his friends before landing on the girl beside Lydia. And then her face tugged into a genuine smile. “Oh my God. Allison? Jesus, kid, is that you?”

In return, Allison notched an arrow and raised her bow to aim at Kate. “Let them go, Kate. All of them. Or I’ll put my arrow between your eyes.”

But Kate’s smile didn’t falter. She studied Allison with a sort of pride and then a bit of sadness. “You’d have been so good, Ali. Probably could have been the best of all of us. But your Dad…he just doesn’t understand, sweet heart. Your legacy is here. Your calling is saving the world from monsters.”

“You’re right,” Allison said coldly. “It is.” And she let go of the arrow.

 Kate Argent didn’t even flinch. She just stood there coldly with her arms still crossed over her chest. The arrow never reached her. It slowed down before stopping a good foot from Kate, hovering in the air a moment and then dropping down to the ground.

Jennifer sighed loudly as she stepped up beside Kate, frowning at Stiles and his people. “Come on. We don’t need this to get ugly.”

“Well you and Kate are already here so it’s a little late for that,” Stiles said with a sneer.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow at him, squinting at him after a moment. “You,” she said with an accusatory tone.

“Me,” Stiles agreed happily.

“How’d you get out of your cuffs? And the barrier?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Stiles snapped.

Derek began to edge towards Stiles, nervous around the two worst women he had ever known. He needed to make sure Stiles was alright and stayed that way. There was no way Derek could know how things were going to go down. He didn’t even know if they had a shot of making it out alive.

Kate looked over her shoulder at the hunters that had now fallen into some sort of organized line up behind her. She looked back at her brother, frowning at him. “You’re out numbered, and from the look of you rabble—seriously outmatched. Call it quits, Chris. You don’t need to do this.”

Chris met her look, cocking his head to the side in a condescending fashion. “God, you have no idea who he is, do you?”

Kate’s superior look and frown faltered for a moment and her eyes narrowed.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. Are we really doing this? Standing around to banter before we try to kill each other? Chris, stop trying to use me as a tool to antagonize your sister. Either let me magic her face off or leave me out of your family drama.” Stiles looked back over at Kate who was now staring at him determinedly, trying to study whatever it was that she was missing from the puzzle.

“Oh my God,” Stiles moaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m going to have to bring out the stupid name, aren’t I? The wildly dramatic, stupid thing. Honestly, I get it—the Super Awesome Magic User didn’t sound as fun as Red Witch. But it sounds like I’m a power ranger or something. And everyone assumes it’s Lydia so I feel like the whole red thing was a mistake.”

The hunters all tensed. Everyone seemed more alert, their eyes fixed on Stiles like he might combust at any moment.

“That’s not possible,” Kate said, twitching slightly. “You can’t be the Red Witch.”

“Why?” Stiles demanded with a whiny voice. “Is it because of the term ‘witch?’ C’mon people. Witch is a unisex term! Albeit the term has some negative connotations. Maybe we should go with Red Mage. More manly, less evil. ‘Witch’ should be reserved for people like Jennifer. The wicked witch of the Argent Base.”

Jennifer seemed to have recovered from shock. From either pure disbelief or some intense fear, she calmed herself down enough to look at Stiles with distain. “I’ll get you my pretty,” she said with an eye roll, “and your little dog too.”

Stiles let out a snort. “Okay, be honest. How long have you been saving that one?” But his eyes flicker first to Scott and then to Derek, as if double checking their both still on either side of him, still alright.

“Enough!” Kate hollered, sending the whole base into silence. “I don’t care who you’ve brought with you Chris. You’ve betrayed this family and everything it’s stood for.” She pulled a set of knives out from her belt, gripping them in expertly in her hands.

Chris raised his guns in either hand.

No one seemed sure who started firing first, but it was all out war again after that.

Stiles dove through the crowd, searching people out amongst the fighting and confusion. He found his father first, the ex-sheriff holding his own beside Chris Argent and Liam. Lydia was tucked in between Isaac and Allison, a frustrated look on her face. She was holding back as much as Stiles was, giving tiny bursts of shouts instead of screaming.

Whipping his head around as he raced along the field, Stiles’ attention was stolen by the flickering brightness of a fire. _Derek._

Even Stiles didn’t really have an explanation for what his magic had done. What Stiles had meant to be a temporary alternative to frightening Derek had become a living shield. What was more surprising was the way Derek had already seemed to accept it.

Derek moved with the fire that circled him every time someone threatening got to close. His claws raked across people, catching fire along his fingers as he went, adding heat to their pain but only protection to himself.

Stiles felt a ghost of a smile until he heard her voice. “Am I really supposed to believe that we’ve had the worlds strongest magic user locked up in our cells for months?”

Stiles spun on his heels to face Jennifer, her face neither cold nor cruel. She looked incredulous, like the fact that anyone would even _try_ to convince her of that was ridiculous.

“Believe what you want,” Stiles told her with glare. “I really don’t like you.”

She cocked her head to the side, her hands coming up slightly as she spoke. “Oh, I’m crushed.” She took in a subtle breath, slow and measured as her hands unclenched. Stiles recognized it as a common tactic for magic users to concentrate and build magic. He would have almost been impressed by how fast she managed to direct her magic if it weren’t aimed at him.

Her hands swiped downwards quickly with an exhale and from her feet shot up a wave of black dust.

Unlike her, Stiles didn’t take in a deep breath or try to concentrate. Stiles simply watched the wave of goopy magic slide towards him at impressive speeds before his own magic seemed to decide that he should do something about it.

Stiles took a step back as it nearly hit him and watched the cloud smack to a halt in the air, falling to the ground and dissipating. Stiles watched it for a moment, wondering what exactly it had been and what its purpose was.

“That’s not possible!” Jennifer shouted, a little enraged. “Magic can’t counteract magic like that! Its…that’s not…” but she never finished her sentence, choosing instead to shut her eyes briefly and then her hands pushed out from her body.

 _Huh, lighting_ , Stiles thought for a moment, judging her on cliques and stupidity.

Blue sparks danced between Jennifer’s fingers for a moment. They sent strange shadows across her face, making her look sharper and more sinister. As they pushed away from her, the strips of lighting crackled in the air, seeming to go for around Stiles instead of directly at him.

Stiles raised a hand quickly and watched them all shift in color until they were a translucent white, bending downwards to stick into the ground like icicles.

Stiles took only a moment to admire the perfect circle he had formed with them, just to his right. His eyes fell back on Jennifer, narrowing.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Stiles started, his voice low, “I’m still learning how to use my magic. Most of the time, it uses me. I guess I’m just lucky that it likes me. But I’ve never used my magic to hurt someone just because I could. You were lucky enough to have incredible power but you misused it to harm people. To oppress. And to bully on the orders of Kate Argent. You’re not worth the air you breathe let alone the magic that runs in your veins.” Stiles swung his arms to his sides, strutting forward towards Jennifer. He stopped just in front of her where she was frozen, looking pale and afraid. “And you hurt Derek.”

And then Stiles glowered at her. "You were cruel and you hurt him. You tormented him and prevented him even basic rights given to animals! And you dare--you fucking dare trying to tell me that it was justified!" Stiles hadn't even noticed the skies going darker. He was shaking with anger, looking her right in the face and seeing no remorse. 

She fell to her knees suddenly, wheezing. 

"Do you feel the difficulty breathing already? Or is the pain from your blood starting to boil already too much for you?" Stiles asked with a sneer. 

Tears fell down her face as her hands wrapped around her stomach. "Please," she begged weakly.

"What do I have to do to make you believe how much power I have? I could tear each and every hunter apart right here at this moment, rip their bones out from their bodies and leave them to dry. I'm not fighting large scale, not because I don't have enough power, but because I have too much. I might accidentally kill everyone here. And apparently that's not a good thing." Stiles curled his hands together, fighting his anger. "Jesus christ, I want you to pay for everything you have ever done a thousand times over. You would deserve it. And I would enjoy it." He sneered at her. "Aren't you going to fight back, Jennifer? Where's your strong magic?"

He stayed there a moment, ignoring the fighting that raged all around them. And the he simply took a step back and walked away. The pain that was encasing her body let go of her and the shadow that had loomed above them disappeared. 

It took a moment of breathing and sobbing but eventually, Jennifer let out a sharp cry. “What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!?”

Stiles didn’t answer, just let himself back into the fray with the knowledge that Jennifer Blake would never be able to hurt anyone with magic ever again.

“Sounds like he cut you off, sweetie,” Liz said with a cackle.

Surprised, Stiles looked to his left to find Elizabeth Thatcher, her eyes filled with glee as she looked at Jennifer Blake.

“Liz!” Stiles squeaked, noticing that the cuffs from around her wrists were gone.

Her arms shot out towards Jennifer, sending the ex-witch spiraling backwards to knock painfully against the ground. Jennifer’s head made a small thudding sound before she passed out.

Liz looked incredibly satisfied. “Hi there, kid. You know, you could have shared with the class about your phenomenal cosmic power.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “What are you doing here? And how did you get those cuffs off?”

“We had a little help,” Liz replied, thrusting her thumb towards a small group of people behind her. They varied in age and power but everyone had the same hopeful look on their face.

All the magic users at the Argent Base.

“A little birdie told us a fight broke out. Thought you kids could use all the help you could get. Though if I’m not mistaken, that’s Chris Argent on your side. And I guess you found your alpha friend.”

“Jesus Christ, Liz,” Stiles grinned at her.

 

* * *

 

Scott was not much of a leader. He knew that. He was young and inexperienced and, above all, he was terrified. If something went wrong then it was his fault. Even with all the support and trust that Lydia and Stiles and the rest of their camp gave him, Scott couldn’t quite bring himself to trust himself the way they did.

He didn’t want to be fighting a war let alone being the one to wage it. But it was about time someone fought back. Scott didn’t want casualties. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. And he especially didn’t want the people he cared about to get hurt.

This particular plan relied on their ability to wait. And dear God, patience was not a virtue they seemed to have a lot of. Lydia looked like she was just itching for them to continue with the plan.

Scott kept his eyes moving as he himself launched forward, racing through the commotion. Weapons and claws and magic were everywhere.

The hunters had called reinforcements like Chris had said they would. No matter how many of their people that Scott and his friends took out, more seemed to pour out. And they were good. Overwhelmingly so. No one was there to play games. The hunters kept in shape and had skills that far surpassed most of Scott’s camp.

“Stiles!” Scott shouted. “Signal it!”

Stiles was sweeping his palms along the ground, circling a group of hunters. The ground beneath them wobbled a moment and then seem to give out. Like quick sand.

“Got it!” Stiles shouted. His head snapped around, searching through the chaos. After a moment his hand shot upwards and a single green spark lit up the sky.

Scott pulled on the earring he had and sucked in a breath.

Stiles did the same but then his hands shot out quickly, a panicked look on his face. A wave of magic shot from him, seeking out someone or something, Scott wasn’t sure.

And then, Lydia shrieked.

Even through Stiles’ spell that every member of the camp had, you could hear the ugly horror that filled the air, even if you didn’t quite feel it.

People began to drop to their knees, clutching desperately at their ears and letting out sharp cries. Blood came from the ears, dropping down their necks and splattering downwards. Bodies fell with heavy thumps. Hunters littered the ground.

Scott had seen the devastation that Lydia’s shrieks could bring. Such a sound could kill a man if she kept going, but she cut off, satisfied to let them all simply passed out through the open field.

With a quick search, Scott looked around at those left standing. His people.

“Stiles?” Derek stumbled over to Stiles, stepping over bodies and looking absolutely terrified.

“Sorry, sorry!” Stiles said, waving his hands quickly. A gold glow appeared over Derek’s ears and Derek’s tension dissipated a bit. “I didn’t have time to explain it to you. I forgot about you and the magic users not being in on the plan. I think I got you all though.”

Stiles pulled on his own earring again, turning off the spell that muffled the world a bit.

Scott did the same.

“What was that?” Derek asked, shuddering a bit.

Scott could sympathize.

“That,” Lydia said, hands on her hips with a smirk, “was me. The real question is, who the hell are you?”

“Can we do the introductions when this is all over?” Stiles demanded.

“It is over,” Scott replied, looking around. “We won, right?”

Lydia’s smirk faltered and her gaze drifted a bit. “It’s getting louder.”

“What is?”

“The dripping,” she replied.

“Hey!” Chris shouted, his face towards the ground as he studied the fallen hunters. “Where’s Kate?”

Everyone’s gaze fell to the ground, searchingly.

Derek’s gaze didn’t. Instead, he looked right at Stiles and found his eyes staring right back. There was a long moment, a silent understanding of just how fucking crazy and horrible Kate Argent was. And then Derek took off running.

Stiles didn’t hesitate. He sped after Derek, using magic to give him a boost. His heart was pounding in his chest, fear filling him to the brim. He followed Derek all the way to the large barn like building where the hunters kept the werewolves locked up.

The both stopped just outside the door.

“You don’t really think she’d do it,” Stiles asked, “do you?”

Derek just gave him a look and they both bolted inside.

There they found Kate Argent, leaning against the wall, feeding bullets into her gun. She looked up, startled as they came in, and then she sneered when she saw who it was.

Her usually tidy curls were a mess, tossed and ratted with dirt and leaves. She had blood all over her, though it looked as though most of it was not her own. She looked manic, her eyes wide and dangerous.

Her gun came up, the giving gleam of wolfsbane bullets catching the light.

Stiles swung his hand through the air without thinking, disassembling the gun until it scattered on the floor in pieces, the metal of the bullets bouncing on the pavement.

The fire came up around Derek, a shield that wrapped around him. But Derek crashed into her, hauling her against the wall harshly. He had her by the throat, his claws itching just past his fingers, digging into her skin. The fire died down, recognizing that there was no immediate threat.

“Oh isn’t his poetic,” she croaked out with smile. “How good of you two to come.”

“You’re a sick fuck,” Stiles spat at her, standing in the doorway, shaking in anger at what she could have done. “Would have really done it? Gone through and killed them all one after another?”

She winced as Derek pushed harder into her but her smile curled tighter. “One by one and I would have _enjoyed_ killing the little monsters. Just like I killed the Hales.”

Derek let loose a growl, baring his teeth at her with blue flashing eyes.

“You’re really real,” Kate whispered to Stiles, studying him. “I didn’t really believe the stories. But well done. You’ve won this round. But we’re not the last base. And my father would rip you to shreds.”

“You think so?” Stiles questioned.

“Sure,” Kate grinned wickedly at him. “He’ll know you’re coming now. They all will.”

“Good,” Stiles said lowly. “This all started because you wanted to pretend you were something you were not. I simply returned the favor. But when we win this, Katie, when we truly end all of this I will not do it by deception. This war began because someone exercised power on one who was blind to its existence. When this war ends it will not be because my enemies did not see me coming. I will announce my arrival with every way I know how. And even then, as they see my great power for what it is and threatens to be, they will still lose. They will lose because when I say ‘checkmate’ they’ll finally realize they were playing checkers on my chessboard. They will know they lost a long time ago, before they even made their first move.”

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, rolling her eyes even as Derek growled at her. “You’re just a kid and you will lose. You’re all talk, but when it comes down to the moment where you really need to do what needs done. You can’t do it.”

 Derek roared then, his claws digging into her skin until a trickle of blood stained her skin.

“Come on, Derek,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “You know you’re not allowed. That’s not how their operation works. I’ve heard all about them. How they refuse to kill anyone.” She looked up at Stiles then, grinning like she had won something. It made Stiles’ blood boil. “He won’t let you. They don’t have the guts to let their enemies die. They’re not killers. Not like me. Did I ever tell you just how much fun I had, watching your whole family burn to the ground? How much fun it was to plan every detail. And you made it so easy. Basically invited me to kill them.”

“God, I fucking hate you. But you’re right,” Stiles agreed, crossing his arms and leaning against the metal doorway. “Scott has this thing against killing unless it is absolutely necessary. And I may be the ‘Red Witch’ but Scott’s the moral compass. What he says goes.” Stiles’ eyes met hers across the way. “But Scott’s not here right now. And honestly, everyone gets something out of it. The people get some peace. You get what you deserve. Derek gets to kill. And me?” Stiles gave Derek a hard look. “I get to watch. Because like Scott said…it’s absolutely necessary.”

Kate’s smile slid away and actual fear filled her eyes. Just short of horror and insanity.

Derek didn’t look at Stiles before he claws ripped across Kate’s throat, tearing into her skin and burrowing through her. And then he let her limp form fall against the hard cement, lifeless and silent.

There was a scream off in the distant. It was enraged or fearful or sorrowful. It was powerful and shook the air, stirring the world around them. It was final.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouted, her voice giving away fear and terror as she rounded the corner with Scott. They stopped beside Stiles to look on.

Derek just stood there, staring down at the body at his feet. Her eyes still open, looking at nothing and everything. So still.

“There it is,” Lydia whispered.

Derek didn’t know what she was talking about. He couldn’t really think over the soft sound that seemed so desperately loud.

From his claws fell little droplets of blood down to the cement floor beside the body of Kate Argent.

_Drip…drip…drip…_

The movies, the books, the shows—they all taught us that revenge didn’t change anything. They taught that it wouldn’t make you feel any better. They taught that revenge couldn’t fix anything.

They were wrong.

It felt good.

And maybe that made him a monster. Maybe it made him the monster they said he was. But Derek just didn’t give a damn. Because Stiles stepped up slowly next to him, taking his bloody hands into his own and offered a small smile.

“It’s over.”

“Okay.”

“Derek, we’re going to be alright.”

“Can we go home?”

“Yeah, Derek, we can go home.”

Derek nodded slowly with a hard roll, like his head was suddenly very heavy. “We need…we need—the others.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “The other—oh.” He looked behind Derek to where double metal doors lead to where the rest of the werewolves were being kept. “Scott?”

“We can take care of it,” Scott promised. “Go find your Dad. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded. He gripped Derek’s arm and made to take him along.

Scott and Lydia passed them, Lydia shooting them a worried look. Her eyes lingered on Derek a moment and then she reached for the doorway, pulling it open.

“Hey!”

“Back it up! You’re not getting through me!”

Stiles and Derek both turned around together at the shock of the voice.

“Cameron?” Stiles said incredulously, staring at the woman where she stood with her gun pointed at Lydia and Scott.

Her eyes met his and her face pulled in shock. “Stiles?” She looked back over at Scott and Lydia. “You’re not hunters.”

“No,” Lydia agreed slowly, obviously confused.

“You’re a werewolf,” She said pointedly at Scott.

“Yes?”

Cameron lowered her gun.

“You’re the one who took of the cuffs,” Stiles whispered to himself but Cameron replied.

“Liz is seventy three and has been patiently waiting a long time to kick the ass of almost every hunter here,” she shrugged. “Seemed like a shame to waste that.”

“You betrayed the hunters,” Lydia said in realization.

Cameron’s face went deadly serious, her eyes casted over her shoulder. “I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t think I’ll ever trust a werewolf, but I’m not playing judge, jury and executioner. I think there’s some wolves in there that could use your help.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed and made to step past her. “You should probably be gone by the time we get back out.”

Cameron considered that for a moment and then nodded. “Good luck, kids.” She hurried past them, not quite looking at Derek as she went.

“Hey, Cameron!” Derek called to her, offering her a weak smile when she turned around to look at him, a bit confused and frightened. “Thanks for the chocolate.”

She gave him a strange smile in return, like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. She nodded. And then she was gone.

Stiles patted Derek’s arm, wrapping up around him slightly. “Come on, Derek. Let’s let the others deal with the rest of it all.”

“No,” Derek whispered, shaking himself. “I should be here for this.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded in understanding. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was 48 hours before Stiles and the camp were ready to go. Some of the magic users and saved werewolves opted to go with them. Others were setting off on their own, honestly fed and pain free for the first time in a long time.

When Derek and Stiles finally reached a point where there was nothing else left for them to do, they ended up together, tucked in the back of John Stilinski’s car as he drove them back to camp.

‘Camp’ turned out to be a loose term to describe a cluster of houses in the middle of the woods. Derek was sure there was magic involved and surely that meant Stiles. But he was too tired to ask and didn’t care enough.

He just wanted to stay there, wrapped up around Stiles, breathing him in with his ear pressed to his rib cage just above the heart.

One of Stiles’ hands ruffled through his hair, calmly scratching at his scalp soothingly. The other hand gripped him at his back, holding him close.

Derek didn’t really bother listening even as Stiles spoke. Sometimes Stiles’ father would speak too but Derek was too out of it to even pay attention. He could only sit there, truly comforted for the first time since the fire.

Still, he couldn't stop shaking. Reality was striking Derek in the most simple way. Tears kept falling from his face as he tried to make himself understand that he wasn't ever going back in that cell ever again.

 

* * *

 

 

Months passed before Derek allowed himself to relax a bit. Kate Argent was dead. Jennifer Blake’s magic was gone. Stiles was safe. Derek was safe. And fed. And free to shift. And around a pack of wolves and people all the time—including the full moon.

Derek spent most of his time split with Stiles and Scott. Scott was his alpha now, at least for the time being. Scott was kind and fair and brave. And he loved Stiles probably as much as Derek did, and so Derek trusted him and took comfort in being a part of a pack.

Stiles…Stiles was perfect. More often than not, the two of them woke up in the morning in a tangle of limbs that was fairly uncomfortable. Neither of them ever seemed willingly to let go though, burrowing deeper and enjoying the warmth of one another.

It had taken some time, but John Stilinski had grown fond of Derek too. Stiles was going over the details with Deaton of some things that had happened. Kindly, Stiles told Derek he didn’t have to be there if he didn’t want to so Derek opted to stay behind with John.

“You want a beer?” John offered.

Derek nodded, taking the bottle that was held out to him and twisting off the cap of his own and John’s before settling into the kitchen chair.

“I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” Derek told him softly. “I know—I realize I haven’t been easy to be around.”

The first few weeks had been filled with nightmares and poor reactions and antisocial behavior that could be blamed on years of isolation. It was still hard, but Stiles made it easier. And everyone had been so understanding.

John took a swallow of beer and then set the bottle on the table. “Stiles cares about you a lot. And when Stiles cares about someone that much…well he doesn’t do anything by halves.” He smiled sadly. “He’s like his mother in that way. If they love you, you count yourself as one of the luckiest people in the world.”

At the word _love_ Derek tensed, uncertain and hesitant. “Sir, I—” He didn’t know how to reassure the man that no matter what, Derek would do whatever he could to take care of Stiles. To prove he knew just how lucky he was to have Stiles in his life.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” John said with a scoff. “At first, I thought it was because of what had happened. But it isn’t. You look like he saved you—like he’s still saving you. Not from the Argents or any of that. Just—being him. I used to look at his mother like that.”

“I care about Stiles very much,” Derek offered, afraid he was going to be told he should leave. That he needed to let Stiles be happy without him. That Stiles needed something more, something better than what Derek could offer him. And Derek couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m glad he found you,” John said and then he stood from the table with a nod and made his way to the television to catch the end of some game.

Derek felt his eyes water as he ducked his head with a smile. “Me too.” 

That night, as they got ready for bed, Derek looked at Stiles and considered it. “Should I—Do you think I should get my own bed. My own room, I mean. Or house. Or whatever.”

Stiles froze at his bedside, his shoulders tensing up as he looked up. “Do you want to?”

“No.”

“You don’t…you don’t owe me—us anything. You’re not…no one is going to make you stay nor are you obligated to stay. You don’t _have_ to stay.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Do I?—yeah. Yes, I wish you’d stay, Derek.”

“Then I will.”

“Because I want you to?”

“Because I want to.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 “This was my plan, remember? I said I’d go with you,” Derek reminded him.

“But are you happy here?” Stiles looked so hopeful.

“I’m happy with you.”

“Oh. Yeah, me too,” Stiles whispered with a smile. He climbed into bed and pulled on Derek until he slid down next to him.  Stiles leaned close towards Derek, his eyes darting back and forth between Derek’s eyes and his lips. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek breathed back with a smile as Stiles pressed their lips together.

 

* * *

 

**1 Year Later**

Stiles stepped in the kitchen with sleepy eyes and a growing smile. “My, my, my, what did I do to deserve such a wonderful sight first thing in the morning?”

Derek snorted at the stove, glancing down briefly to where he was clad only in his worn black boxers. His gaze flickered over to Stiles to offer up a small smile. “I got hungry. Someone wore me out last night.”

“Pancakes,” Stiles commented after sending Derek a wink. His smile, even as it was tired, stretched far across his face. “Awesome. I love pancakes. We got any coffee?”

Stiles stumbled over to stand beside Derek, snagging his steaming mug off the counter where it was waiting for him. He turned his head sideways as he retreated, startling Derek by giving him a soft kiss on the cheek and a pat on the ass. Stiles backed up then, headed towards the table where his magic was already setting plates and cutlery out.

“Don’t forget,” Stiles told him, “that you promised to help Lydia and Scott with traditional pack rolls and shit.”

“Remind me again why Lyds cares,” Derek rolled his eyes, turning to look at Stile.

“Because she’s a scholar and can’t stand it when I know more about something than she does,” Stiles laughed. “And if you keep calling her Lyds she’s going to skin you.”

“It’s an affectionate nickname.”

“Yeah and Lydia totally sees it that way.”

Derek watched Stiles set his coffee down at his chair, humming softly under his breath as he maneuvered about the kitchen in a tired daze.

Derek had to remind himself not to stare since he didn’t particularly like blackened pancakes. “Sleep well?” he asked, flipping them one by one while Stiles neared him.

Stiles came from behind him, slipping his arms around Derek’s waist. He pressed his face into the werewolf’s back with just enough pressure that Derek could feel the slight flutter of eyelashes against his bare skin. He repressed a shudder, trying to keep his mind on the pancakes.

“Yeah, I really did, thanks. You see, the secret to a good night sleep is to have a great pillow. And honestly I have the best. Very comfortable,” Stiles teased, his grip tightening a moment before going very loose.

“That so?” Derek smirked as he flipped the last of the pancakes off the pan and onto the plate.

“Mmm,” Stiles confirmed. “What about you? You still able to sleep with me going all octopus on ya?”

Derek turned off the burner and set the pancakes aside. He twisted around slowly, putting his own arms around Stiles so that both of their arms rested on the lower part of the other’s back. He met Stiles’ gaze, cocking his head ever so slightly to give him a soft kiss.

Stiles smiled into it, leaning closer and gripping tighter. But was slow and relaxed—lazy like their early mornings usually were.

When they pulled back Derek ran his thumb lightly over Stiles’ cheek, tracing his smile. “Yeah, Stiles. I sleep just fine.”

He didn’t tell Stiles that he didn’t think he would be able to sleep without him tucked in his arms anymore. He didn’t tell Stiles that nightmares woke him often but that soft snores comforted him and lulled him back to sleep. He didn’t tell Stiles that his wolf was content to be close enough to protect him in the night when Derek held Stiles’ sprawled body. Or that he fell asleep to the smell of Stiles in his nose in an intoxicating way.

He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have to. Stiles knew. Stiles always knew.

Derek just moved in ever closer until they were completely pressed against one another. He leaned down close to Stiles’ ear and said, “I love you,” in an honest murmur.

Because he liked the way Stiles’ eyes softened and his lips twitched upward and his heart rate spiked ever so slightly. And because best of all, Derek loved to hear Stiles whisper, “I love you too, Derek,” like it was the most simple truth in the world.

And maybe it was. Maybe the truest truth in the whole world was that Derek loved Stiles and Stiles loved Derek. And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it was all they needed for their Happily Ever After.           

And that was that.  Sure there would be more fights to take on, more bases to rip apart and people to save. But they could do it.  But for now it was Derek and Stiles and their little house as they grew old together, that little red hoodie just hanging neatly on the bed frame upstairs, waiting to be needed.

**_The End._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S A WRAP! Please leave a comment! I apologize if it fell flat for you. I did try not to completly muck it up but my world has been a little bit over crazy lately. 
> 
> Best wishes to you all! Thank you for reading it! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/writing-on-lifes-pages


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